


The 5 Times Peter Parker Needed His Dad +1 Time He Got Him

by NameMeAgainIveBeenLost



Series: I Don't Need No Super Suit (I'm Finally Feeling Brave) [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Discussion of Abortion, Everyone Hates Beck, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irondad, Married Stucky (background), No Snap, No Thanos, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Protective Avengers, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rhodey being done with Tonys shit 3000, Tony Stark Has Issues, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, Transphobia, spiderson, tony is Trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 07:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NameMeAgainIveBeenLost/pseuds/NameMeAgainIveBeenLost
Summary: “I keep feeling his hands on me.” Peter admits quietly(...)“I think I’d give just about anything to quit feeling like he ripped me open and filled me up with worms. Bucky says it gets better, Sam says the nightmares fade, but I still feel like I can’t scrub him off my skin.”Beck is out for revenge and it's Peter who takes the fall, as always. In the aftermath Peter seeks comfort from those around him and finds love and support in spades. Tony seems to be the only one unsure of how to proceed with Peter. It takes more than a few tries to get the genius back on track with his son.Or; Peter gets hurt, Tony is clueless, and the rest of the Avengers men come to the rescue.





	The 5 Times Peter Parker Needed His Dad +1 Time He Got Him

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Peter is forcibly outed without his consent. He is also vaginally raped by Beck. It's a gross and uncomfortable scene. If you want to skip it and just start with Peter's interaction with Bruce, the names are all bolded and separated.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: not trans, don't speak for trans people. The science is inaccurate, but we're talking about comicbook radioactive spiders here. And yes, I know it's way harder to doctor hop for HRT than I've made it seem, but Peter is really damn smart and let's pretend May is a nurse and together they play the system. The science is way tf dumbed down when it's explained to Steve and not super accurate. But let's please just remember Peter is like 16, and trying to explain his transitioning to a man from the 40's. He's already hella uncomfortable talking about his body and masculinity with a *specimen* like Steve, so give us a break. 
> 
> Sooo, I kind of got this idea in my head about how Peter's entire life is shaped by the love and deaths of the men around him and decided I wanted to see him loved unconditionally by all the men in the tower. I like the idea of Peter going from always mourning a father to suddenly being overwhelmed with like 50 superpowered men who all love and adore him like a son or nephew. I wanted to see him having a healthy male/male interaction with the men on the team, eventually including Tony while also including Tony's fear of failure as a parent.  
I also wanted to think about how Peter's experiences with the men around him would shape his ideas of what a man should be, particularly since he's a transboy growing up with basically no male parental figure.  
That all sounds really deep, but it's not. I just think the whole team would be super protective of Peter in a perfect world, and Peter would constantly be shifting his idea of masculinity according to how he sees these "perfect" men behave.  
Also whump, but, ya know. What am I without it?
> 
> P.S. This was only supposed to be 10K words, but I'm trash for healthy, loving relationships of all kinds. Also, Steve Rogers has dysphoria and Sam Wilson is an idol. Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.

Peter groans as he awakens. His head is throbbing, and his enhanced muscles feel like jelly. And his arms, they ache something fierce, nerves jumping and stuttering in time to his heartbeat. When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Mr. Stark. Normally, that sight would reassure him, or perhaps make him sheepish. Awaking in pain to Mr. Stark standing over him in disapproval is nothing new, after all. Peter’s had more than his fair share of experiments blow up in his face, literally. Time and again he’s come to on the floor of Mr. Stark’s private lab with the billionaire looking down at him in a mixture of amusement, concern, and exasperation. The look has quickly come to mean love to Peter.

This isn’t that. No, this is something bad and horrible. Mr. Stark is strapped down to a table which has been righted so the man is standing but bound at the chest, arms, neck, knees and ankles. His head is forced straight up, and his eyes are wide in sheer terror. That alone jolts Peter into full awareness, combined with the fact that Mr. Stark has been stripped of his suit. He stands in only his white undershirt and black athletic pants, his typical under armor attire.

Peter has never seen him so horrified.

Peter jerks, intent on going to his mentor, on freeing the man and escaping this strange, darkened, place. Then he realizes his own predicament. His wrists are chained and pulled out and back, like the wings of a bird. He tries his web shooters and quickly realizes that they’ve been crushed, wrapped almost painfully around his wrists and totally inoperable. He’s also gagged with a rag that reeks of motor oil and mildew. That’s when Peter realizes his mask has been stripped off, he makes a sound of terror and begins to fight in alarm. Only to realize his muscles all feel like jelly because they practically _are_. Normally, the boy should be able to rip through the chains holding him with ease, he should be able to get up and go to Mr. Stark, to tear the bonds off the man. But he can’t, something is wrong, horribly wrong, and his strength has failed him.

“Peter!” Mr. Stark calls to him, not for the first time from the franticness in his voice. Peter stops and slumps, looking up at the man in desperation. “Are you…” Mr. Stark looks lost for a moment before he continues, “are you hurt, kid?” he asks, voice far too soft. Lacking the teasing edge sharpened to a fine point that Peter has come to admire. Peter shakes his head slowly but rattles his chains, trying to communicate his problem. Mr. Stark’s face falls.

“I know,” he says, slumping in defeat himself, “I know, kid. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you. I thought it would be simple, I swear I did, I’m so sorry Pete.” Mr. Stark nearly pleads with the teen. Peter makes a noise of question, fighting again, wanting to go to the man. Wanting to comfort him. Just then a door whooshes open. Bright florescent lights flicker to life and Peter groans as his eyes squint. A moment later he looks around and is surprised to see himself in a lab. An empty one, yes, dusty and desolate, but with the bare bones to make the space recognizable.

Peter makes a noise of question when a man steps into his line of sight, though he can’t see the man’s face, just his back. He’s about the same height as Mr. Stark, perhaps with an added inch or two, it’s hard to tell from Peter’s place on the ground, and dark brown hair pushed back off his face. When he speaks his voice is a little buoyant, with the careless edge Peter has come to associate with insanity.

“Ah, Tony, you’re awake I see.” The man says joyfully, clicking his fingers impatiently. A moment later a small bald man scurries over with a metal case in hand. Peter follows his movements as the man sweeps old equipment off a metal trolley and wheels it over beside Tony. The metal is loud and the trolley squeaks shrilly enough that Peter flinches. He clicks the case open and Peter furrows his brow in confusion. Inside is a miniature arch reactor, or at least something that has the appearance of one, though it’s quickly growing dim. The bald man mumbles to himself as he pulls out wires that almost look like jumper cables. Mr. Stark grunts and tries to shift away.

“What is that?” he demands. And, ohhh that does _not_ bode well, any tech Mr. Stark doesn’t recognize has bad news written all over it.

“Hmm, yes, I do suppose you had us done away with before you could steal this little beauty,” the dark-haired man says with an edge of bitterness in his voice. Tony’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he says, still trying to shift away as the bald man comes closer and tugs up his undershirt, bearing his arch reactor, before reaching back for the clamps. “What is that? Who are you?” his voice rises an octave, a little more frantic. Peter remembers Tony telling him about Afghanistan, about being tethered to a car battery in those long months until he escaped. This must all be disturbingly similar.

“You don’t know? You _really_ don’t know?!” The mans voice starts off soft and incredulous, and ends offended and furious, practically screaming in Mr. Stark’s face. Mr. Stark doesn’t have a chance to answer, though, because just then the small bald man clamps on the wires to the edge of the arch reactor in Mr. Stark’s chest and Tony’s body goes rigid. He screams through his teeth in pain and Peter cries out in alarm, fighting his chains desperately.

That seems to be the wrong move, though, because just then the dark-haired man notices him. He turns to Peter slowly, something slimy and slithering playing across his face. It makes Peter pull back on instinct, tugging at the chains, making them rattle.

“Turn it down,” he says distractedly to the small bald man. The bald man complies and a moment later Tony has gone limp against his slab prison, sweating and heaving.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me, Tony.” The man says conversationally, though his gaze is still hungrily moving across Peter’s face. His “_Peter- tingle_” (he really needs a new name for that) is making every hair on his body stand on in, goosebumps across every inch of flesh he has. “But I guess we don’t matter to you, do we? The people who do the hard work, the ones who invent and create and keep you in your ivory tower. The ones you step on in the name of your needless greed.” The man huffs a laugh through his nostrils. His blue eyes are dark and wide, almost comically so. He takes a step towards Peter and runs a hand through the teen’s hair, tugging on the boy’s locks and forcing his neck to crane back.

“No,” the man continues softly, his other hand coming up to trace Peter’s face, pulled tight in fury and disgust at the man’s touch, “all you do is take and take and _take_. Perhaps it’s time someone took from you.” The man hisses the last part, eyes narrowing as he pulls Peter’s hair back painfully, causing the boy to cry out.

“Hey!” Tony calls, voice shaky and weak, “leave the kid out of this! Whatever your problem is, it’s between me and you, not him!” Tony insists.

“Is it?” the man calls over his shoulders lightly, grabbing Peter by the throat, squeezing so tight Peter's air comes in gasps and wheezes as he rattles the chains encasing him. The room is growing dim and he feels a slither of fear crawl down his spine as he fights to breathe. He’s reminded painfully of being crushed under all that concrete so long ago, alone and gasping as he screams his last. So scared that would be his end, terrified Mr. Stark would find his body, crushed and weak beneath the building.

This feels worse than that, somehow. Much worse.

“Stop!” Mr. Stark calls again, panic seeping into his voice. “Whatever you want you can have it, ok? Just leave him alone!” The man turns then, sharply, thankfully letting go of Peter in the process. Peter curls in on himself, gasping and coughing through the gag as he gets his air back.

“Whatever I want?!” The man is angry now, crazed even, “Whatever I fucking want?! I _wanted_ my life’s work recognizes as _mine_ you greedy, self-centered, son of a bitch! I wanted to have a job when it was done! We all did!” The man is practically screaming at the end. Tony’s eyes suddenly widen in recognition.

“Beck.” He says softly.

“And friends,” Beck hisses, motioning to the small bald man still leaning over the silver case and wires. The man looks up, almost alarmed at being acknowledged, before putting his head straight back down.

“We worked on the Binarily Aug-“

“YOU RENAMED MY LIFE’S WORK _BARF_!” the man, Beck, screams, spittle flying from his mouth. Mr. Stark grimaces a little. Peter would laugh if he wasn’t so fucking scared, because Mr. Stark really _did_ hate that name.

“Ok, I’ll admit the acronym could have used some work-“ he starts, Beck cuts him off in a disbelieving laugh which Tony pushes past, “but _I_ was the creator. You headed the project to design it, Beck! We did it together! You were acknowledged in every paper, in every study-“

“You fired me!” Beck snaps. Tony looks to Peter warily before speaking lowly.

“I found you using the machine to simulate yourself having sex with an unconscious girl. Who, by the way, looked _very_ underage.” Tony says slowly and firmly. Peter’s eyes go wide in alarm and he recoils slightly from the man still standing above him. Beck snarls at Tony.

“It’s _my_ goddamned machine, I can do what I fucking want-“

“It wasn’t your machine!” Mr. Stark snaps, “you were losing your fucking mind, Beck. You had been for ages. And I couldn’t have you using company property-“ Beck growls in annoyance, turning to Peter. Peter tries to pull back on instinct as the man raises his hand, eyes blow wide in madness.

“SHUT UP!” he screams, back-handing Peter sharply. Peter gives a cry of alarm behind his gag as his head snaps to the side harshly. Tony lets out a small sympathy cry of his own but falls silent. When Peter dares look up, Beck is breathing hard, hair falling in his eyes. They go hungry when they catch Peter’s terrified gaze.

“I suggest you shut the fuck up, Stark.” Beck pants out. Peter tries not to cower, but he can’t hold Beck’s gaze anymore. His eyes drift and he’s confronted with the obvious tent in Beck’s pants instead. Peter’s eyes go wide in fear and alarm and he looks to Mr. Stark helplessly as he tries to pull back, still weak as a kitten. Tony looks confused until Beck’s hand comes down to rub himself through his pants and Peter can see his mentors mouth drop open in alarm.

“You’re right!” Mr. Stark tries, attempting to distract the man, “You’re right! It, it wasn’t a big deal, I only used it as an excuse to fire you. I just wanted the credit. I always do. Ok? You’re right, so just… just do whatever with me, ok? With _me_, Beck. Not the kid.” Mr. Stark is struggling against his bonds again, eyes bouncing among all the occupants in the room. The bald man is staring at Beck now, wide eyed in alarm at his friend’s obvious arousal in the face of a scared child.

“Yea,” Beck hisses, stepping to the side so Tony can see the teens face clearly and grabbing Peter’s hair, forcing his head up. Peter grunts in pain and tries to fight, but Beck shakes him a bit by his brown locks and Peter falls still, seething at the man silently. “You’re right, Stark. He is a kid. Just some fucking _kid_, and you’ve handed him the keys to the kingdom. Why is that, huh?” Beck snickers, Peter doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s deranged. “Tell me Stark, why? Is it his ass? It is, isn’t it? Does he call you daddy?” Beck taunts. Peter can’t help it, he snarls in fury at the man’s implications, fighting like a mad dog. Beck just laughs.

“Oh, kid, there’s no point. You see that little machine there?” he jerks Peter’s head, drawing attention to the metal case with the (maybe?) arch reactor in it, “it’s blocking out all those fun extra powers of yours, _Spiderman_. All powered by Daddy’s little heart implant. But, please, do keep fighting. I bet you’ll feel great on my cock, squirming like that.” Beck coos. Tony gives a furious and shocked cry and Peter squeaks, shaking his head.

“Beck…” the bald man starts, looking a bit pale. “Beck, you can’t!” he insists.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want!” Beck snaps. The man jerks back, chin wobbling before it lifts a little.

“You can’t!” he says again, “You said we’d hurt _Stark_! You didn’t say anything about the kid!” Beck gives a sound between a growl and grunt of annoyance, rolling his neck then looking to the little bald man with vicious eyes.

“Just shut the fuck up and do your goddamned job! Jesus, if you’ll quit fucking bitching, I’ll let you have a turn with the brat when I’m done,” he says, voice saccharine and sugary sweet. Peter can’t help it then, the fear and reality crashing down on him. Because there’s no escaping this, there’s no getting away. He’s powerless, he’s weak, and Mr. Stark is going to see, he’s going to know, and Peter doesn’t know what he’ll say, doesn’t know if he’ll get to say _anything_ before they’re killed. Peter sobs, tears spilling over his eyes as he shakes his head weakly, screaming in impotent rage behind the gag. Beck looks down and laughs, only making Peter cry harder.

“God, that’s fucking hot. He is pretty, isn’t he Stark? I can see why you picked him.” Beck is sneering and Tony is ghostly pale, shaking his head vehemently, he looks like he’s going to be sick. The bald man jerks back.

“Beck!” the bald man says, almost a plea, “Beck, enough! Ok, _enough_! You’ve scared the kid plenty. If you don’t stop I’m going to-“ the man never finishes because two things happen simultaneously. The little mans hand reaches for the silver case, and a gun appears in Beck’s own. There’s a deafening _BANG!_ in the small lab, and the bald man crumples. Peter screams, shaking his head as the man falls. His watery blue eyes behind broken glasses stare at Peter, his blood seeping across the floor.

Everyone goes still for a moment.

Then Beck sticks a finger in his ear, wiggling it and opening and closing his jaw.

“Damn,” he says brightly, “I knew I should have put the silencer on.” He looks down at the gun in his hand, then shrugs before looking at Peter and grinning. “Well, kiddo, I’d say prepare yourself but,” he shrugs, looping over to the table to place the gun down, “that would really defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

Peter glares at the man through his tears, still jerking uselessly. Mr. Stark is shaking his head, fighting just as pointlessly.

“Don’t.” he pleads brokenly, looking at Beck imploringly. Beck just snorts and pulls a pocketknife from his jeans.

“Now, Tony, you can either tell me how to get that thing off him, or I can cut it off,” Beck pops open the knife, edge gleaming in the bright light, “and I can promise not to be careful. Who knows, boy might look pretty with a few more scars.” Beck smirks and Tony just looks at Peter, eyes desperate. Body screaming “_I’m sorry!_”. Peter sobs but bows his head, indicating the spider on the front of his suit.

“The- the spider.” Tony stutters, “he has to-“ Tony stops again. Beck grunts, stepping up to Peter’s quivering form. He presses his hand to the spider on Peter’s chest and hums thoughtfully when nothing happens.

“It has to be him, I assume?” he says, pulling away, still eyeing Peter, though the question is directed at Tony. Peter glares back and nods tearfully in answer, none the less.

Beck stands and walks to his left side, then. He holds Peter’s hand for a moment, despite the boy trying to shake him off, before his fingers dance over the chain holding the teen in place. He hums again, and then snickers to himself as he grabs Peter’s wrist. Peter realizes what he’s going to do the moment before he does it and his eyes go wide, seeking out Mr. Stark for comfort. The teen gives a short scream as his wrist is snapped viciously.

“YOU SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!” Mr. Stark yells, jerking and fighting wildly. Peter keeps his eyes on his mentor and Mr. Stark tries to hold his gaze back, trying to assure him everything will be ok with his eyes. Peter whimpers as the chain is released. He knows it’s useless, but he still tries to fight, still tries to swing his ruined hand, tries to shoot webs that _won’t fucking work_. He doesn’t expect Beck to just laugh before grabbing his whole arm and wrenching back. Peter screams again as his shoulder is dislocated. Tony cries out with him, shaking his head in denial.

“Beck, please!” Mr. Stark cries. “Please! Just stop it, please!”

“Keep begging, Stark,” Beck sneers, grabbing Peter's hand and forcing it against the spider on his chest despite Peter's pitiful screams of agony. “I wonder which will be louder, his screams or your-“ Beck cuts off as he sees Peter’s back bared. Peter sobs and shakes his head, looking away, scared of what Mr. Stark’s face will do when he sees.

Peter just keeps shaking his head as he feels the suit pulled off one shoulder before his now bare hand is chained back up. Peter doesn’t even fight when Beck frees the other one and pulls the suit fully off of the teen’s torso. When he’s rebound, Beck steps back to admire him and Peter sobs in disgust.

“Oh,” Beck breaths, before laughing. Peter doesn’t look up, just keeps his head down, sobbing and sniffling. “Oh, that is fucking _beautiful_.” Beck says, shaking with mirth. Peter’s body jerks, trying to curl in on himself as Beck comes closer, running his fingers under the strap of Peter’s binder. “Look at her,” Beck teases, “playing dress up.” Peter sobs and shakes his head, trying to jerk back. Beck just laughs breathily, “no wonder she’s so fucking pretty.”

Beck turns for a moment and laughs again, “oh my, I guess you really _aren’t_ fucking her from the look on your face.”

“I- I,” Mr. Stark stutters. Peters eyes stay on the ground in shame. “let him go.” Mr. Stark says, suddenly firm. Peter’s eyes flash up, he sees nothing but seething fury in his mentor’s face, all directed at Beck. “You’ve made your fucking point, Beck. You let him go right fucking now or I swear to god when I get out, I’m gonna kill you. I’ll fucking tear you apart, I swear to god-!” Beck cuts Tony off.

“Blah blah blah, empty threats, Stark. Empty threats. You won’t have a chance. Who’s going to come for you, hmm? Who’s going to help you? No, no,” Beck steps behind Peter, kneeling with his legs on either side of Peter’s knees, “here’s how this is going to go,” he starts, running the flat of the blade along Peter’s shoulder before slipping it under his binder. It nicks the skin as Beck cuts through the strap. Peter whimpers pathetically, shaking his head and looking down again, trying to tell himself it’s not real.

“You’re going to beg me to stop,” Beck begins sawing at the other strap and Peter gives a loud cry, trying to pull away fruitlessly, “I’m going to do whatever I was to the girl.” Peter flinches, “and you’re going to sit there and watch.” The second strap fails. The binder is tight enough on his chest, though, that Peter is still secure. Until Beck slips the knife along the back, making a cut and starting to pull the tight fabric apart.

Peter screams then, furious and humiliated, jerking and fighting despite his broken arm, straining pathetically.

“That’s right, baby,” Beck coos in his ear, “keep screaming for me.” He laughs breathlessly and presses his erection into Peter’s ass. Peter sobs then, going limp as his binder is torn from his body, breasts exposed to eyes other than his own for the first time in years. He feels his skin pebble in the cold air and moans pathetically, shaking his head when Beck reaches around and cups them. His hands are large and rough, callused.

But they feel nothing like the other large, callused hands in Peter’s life. Sergeant Barnes with his warm gun calluses and cool metal gasp trying to teach Peter how to slow dance, laughing when he stumbles. Mr. Barton (“_kid, call me Clint_”) with his rough hands tossing jellybeans at Peter’s waiting mouth during Avengers meetings, much to Captain Rogers annoyance and Tony’s amusement. Captain Rogers with his artists grasp, a different type of callus pattern from his husbands, tugging Peter up and patting him on the back after Peter gets knocked down during a sparring session. Praise for the boy always on the tip of his tongue, even if Peter forgot how to get out of that one chokehold with his legs. Thor with his giant paws patting Peter on the head like a dog, smile bright as the sun. Bruce, who almost never touches anyone, handing Peter a tool in the lab and patting his forearm quickly before pulling away. And Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark with his slightly smaller hands that are always kind. A hand on Peter’s shoulder, or the middle of his back, ruffling his hair, guiding him in using a new tool in the lab, fingers smoothing through his hair when Peter falls asleep on the man during movie nights, tugging him in by the back of his neck to place a (dare Peter say it) parental peck on his forehead.

This mans hands feel nothing like that. They’re cold, and pinch at Peter’s nipples painfully, taking and touching in a way none of the men in Peter’s life ever would, because those men are good. And this one isn’t. Peters never been this scared of a criminal before, not even Vulture who tried to bury him alive, never been faced with a man who would dare think of him like this, would dare take something like this from him.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY FUCKING KID!” Tony screams. Peter is too scared to even feel a flash of warmth at that.

Beck murmurs in annoyance, Peter can feel hot breath on the back of his neck, the man’s lips on his nape. Beck squeezes, pinching Peter’s breasts and nipples painfully, making the boy cry out and jerk away, shaking his head and sobbing as his arm is jostled. Beck laughs then, full and loud in Peter’s ear. Then one hand lets go, though the other is still pinching tightly, Peter knows he’s going to bruise, powers or no. The stray hand toys with the waistband of his boxers and Peter is sobbing so hard he’s hyperventilating. He thinks Tony is talking as Beck’s hand slips in, cupping his sex, fingers parting Peter’s lips.

“I’m sorry, oh god Peter I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry-“ Tony is sobbing. Peter can’t bear to look up, can’t bear to see Mr. Stark as broken and scared as he is, he keeps his eyes clinched tightly shut, body taunt, shaking in terror. He cries out in alarm as Beck’s fingers shift, probing at his entrance. Still he doesn’t move. Because the floor is cold and there’s drying blood from a dead man soaking into the suit at his knees, and if he opens his eyes he’ll see his father figure falling apart and a man dead because he tried to defend Peter and a hand where no hand should be without his say so and his suit crumpled uselessly around him.

If he opens his eyes this is real and not just a horrible dream. If he opens his eyes, he might lose his damn mind, he might lose it for real, might just scream and thrash like an animal, he might throw up against the disgusting gag in his mouth. So, he keeps his eyes shut.

Even as Beck tugs his boxers down his hips.

Even as Beck unzips his own pants.

Even as Beck situates Peter as he likes, spreading the boys knees a little more. Getting annoyed and muttering as he just pulls the rest of Peter’s clothes off, tugging at Peter’s shoulder painfully and leaving the boy bare. Spreading his knees wider, and wider, and wider until Peter is groaning in agony as he’s tipped forward, weight pulling on his dislocated shoulder and shaking knees barely holding him.

Even as Tony breaks down into screaming babbles, begging Peter’s forgiveness, swearing to tear Beck apart and put him back together to do it all over again.

Beck doesn’t prep him, not that Peter expected him to.

“She’s so dry, Stark. You ought to feel it.” Beck hisses, pulling back to spit on his palm a few times. He tugs Peter’s hips back and tries again. Peter still feels just as dry, it burns horribly but Beck must like it because he moans in Peter’s ear.

“So fucking tight,” Beck pants, jerking his hips. Peter tries not to whimper, tries to relax his lower body so maybe it won’t hurt so damn bad. Jesus Christ, no one warned him about this. About the ache, about being stabbed dully from the inside. About the burn and friction from too little lube and no preparation. About the exposure, being skinned alive would provide more dignity.

No one told Peter he would feel a million spiders scuttling across his skin, worms filling his guts in a filthy writhing mass of fear and disgust. Oh god, oh god, please. He can’t do this, he _can’t_. He doesn’t know _how_.

“God, Stark. You missed out. Fuck, she’s still got a tight cunt, like a little girl.” Beck grips Peter’s hair, jerking his head back, still fucking into him, one hand on his hip. “Huh?” he pants in Peter’s ear, “is that what you are? Just a little girl trying to play pretend?” (Vaguely, Peter thinks that of fucking course the guy has to bring his biological sex into this. Of course, he has to take that one final step to destroy Peter’s control over his own flesh.)

“Stop! Just stop!” Tony says, Beck huffs another laugh before jerking Peter’s head to the side. His teeth bury in Peter’s neck and the teen screams, eyes popping open in alarm. Blood begins to drip down his neck and collar bone and Tony shakes his head, meeting Peter’s eyes. Peter tries to tell him it’s not his fault, but it comes out gargled and pathetic behind the gag, so he shakes his head. Then, Beck runs his hand through the blood on Peter’s chest and pulls out, slicking himself again before pushing back in, groaning in pleasure, whispering about what a “_good girl_” Peter is.

All Peter can do is bite down on the gag, trying to remain silent as he’s fucked again, and again, and again, and _Jesus_, why doesn't it just end? He thinks he’s bleeding; it feels like he should be. He’s not wet in the slightest and his opening burns horribly, like Beck’s dick is made of sandpaper. It’s too long, Peter thinks, and it keeps punching him from the inside, overwhelming and breathtaking in the worst way.

He didn’t think his first time would be like this, not at all. He figured it’d be with someone nice, someone he liked a lot, maybe even loved. Preferably in a few years when he actually started growing hair on his face, maybe even after he got top surgery. He’d be more comfortable then, he thinks. Maybe even with MJ, if Peter ever got up the nerve to tell her how he feels. She’d be understanding, she’d be patient and good and kind and say something to disperse the tension and make Peter smile, because that was just who she was. Peter never felt ill at ease with her, nervous, flustered, sure, but he never felt scared.

He felt scared now. He wondered if he could get pregnant? He was pretty sure his doctor said he could, HRT or no. May would go with him if he had to get an abortion, right? Right? She wouldn’t hate him, would she? She wouldn’t blame Tony? She couldn’t, Peter needed Mr. Stark, he needed them. He needed… he needed…

He really wanted to be back at the tower right now. All those strong capable people together, hell bent on protecting him. All those people who looked at him as their brother or nephew or son. All those people who loved him in one place. Mr. Stark not least among them.

Beck grunted unattractively as he sped up, rocking Peter’s body, sparking agony from his aching knees to his burning entrance to his shattered arm to the corners of his mouth where the gag chaffed horribly.

“No, no, nonononono,” Tony cried, Peter chanced a glance at him, he was looking at Beck in disgust and alarm, “Pull out! For fucks sake, please!” he cried, apparently thinking along the same lines as Peter.

Beck just giggled breathlessly and grunted as he thrust in harshly a final time. The man went still, hands leaving a bruising grip on Peter’s hips as he finished inside the boy. Peter shivered in disgust when Beck pulled out and he felt the mans seed dripping down his thighs. Beck went limp behind him, resting his head between Peter’s shoulder blades, slowly regaining his breath, before clearing his throat and pulling back. Peter could hear Beck tucking himself back into his pants before he stood. He patted the teens head condescendingly before stepping around him.

“Well,” Beck said, pushing his hair out of his face, “that was fun.” He grinned cheekily and Tony stared at him in horror, still crying.

“He’s a kid.” Tony croaked, “he’s fucking sixteen. He’s a goddamned child, you-“ he broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. Beck just snorted and rolled his eyes.

“You’re pathetic, Stark. But maybe now that she’s all used up, you’ll take a spin, hm? I heard you liked your girls experienced.” Beck wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. Mr. Stark’s face went blank in fury.

“I’m going to kill you, Beck. I’m going to send my entire fucking team after you. There’ll be nowhere for you to run, nowhere to hide. And when I get a hold of you, I’ve got people intimately acquainted with torture to help me come up with ideas for you. Then, when you’re nothing but a shriveled husk, I’m going to fucking kill you with my bare hands.” Mr. Stark promised coldly, shaking with rage.

Becks face curled in a grin and he snickered, coming over the trolley with the silver case on it, fiddling with the controls.

“We’ll see about that, Stark. Let’s see if your team can find you before one of you dies, hm? No food, no water, no way to escape. And you. Sitting there, eternally sucking the power from her,” Beck jerked his head in Peter’s direction. Peter snarled weakly at the horrid man, because fuck you, he _wasn’t_ a girl. “You’ll sit here and watch each other wither. Watch each other’s bodies give out from dehydration and starvation. Which of you do you think will go first? You think you’ll sit here and watch her rot? Or do you think she’ll have to watch you?” Beck just grinned at Mr. Stark’s terrified expression. He finished with the machine and stepped over the bald man’s body to eye Tony with a smirk.

“Oh,” he said, staring at Tony in thought before turning around and humming to himself. Peter recoiled as the man stepping in front of him again. Beck reached down and shoved his fingers inside Peter, making the boy squirm and moan in discomfort, gathering his own spend and Peter’s blood on them before turning back to Tony. Tony recoiled in disgust when Beck swiped the filthy fingers across the man’s cheek.

“There we go. Now you can think about what you missed out on.” Beck said brightly, patting Tony’s cheek before turning away. He whistled as he walked out the door, pausing to adjust the light panel, perhaps so it would stay on.

It was a long time before either of them moved, and it was Peter who shifted first. He moaned pathetically as he shuffled forward on his knees, giving himself enough slack to sit on his haunches. He was trembling with the effort when it was done, his left arm singing in white-hot anguish.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark asked gently. Peter forced himself to look up at the man, sagging in exhaustion. “Are you- I’m so-“ for the first time, Peter's mentor seemed at a loss for words. Peter just nodded, trying to show he understood. “They’ll come soon.” Mr. Stark said next. Peter nodded, though he thought, maybe, it wasn’t true.

And Peter was so tired, just so… Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a moment…

He drifted in and out. Mr. Stark tried to assure him at first, insisting the Avengers would come soon, but hours passed with no sight of the team. Peter tried to sleep more. When he awoke Mr. Stark was humming, it was nice. It reminded Peter of his mom, singing him to sleep as a little kid, bushing her hand through his hair as he curled around his stuffed animals in bed. He drifted off again.

When he woke up, Mr. Stark was looking worse for wear, tired and weak. Peter grunted to draw his attention.

“Pete,” he said, jerking like he wanted to go to Peter. The teen realized the man’s wrists were raw and bloody from fighting his bonds. Peter lifted his head more to show he was listening. “Hey, hey bud.” Mr. Stark sniffled, and Peter realized the man had been crying. He tried to make a sound of comfort through the gag, but it just came out distressed. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m so, I’m so sorry Peter. This is all-“ Mr. Stark cut himself off, face drawn as he swallowed thickly.

“Kiddo, we gotta try and get out of here, ok?” Peter grunted in agreement and nodded. “Listen, bud…” Mr. Stark trailed off, face falling again, “I, I can’t get out, ok? Even if I got my hands free,” he flexed them to emphasize, “I wouldn’t be able to get out of the rest of these without help of some kind. I can’t even look down,” he said, referencing the band holding his neck down. “Kiddo, I… I think it’s up to you.” Mr. Stark finally said. Peter moaned pathetically, shaking his head as tears formed in his eyes. Cause he didn’t wanna! He just wanted to go home.

“I know, I know,” Mr. Stark tried to sooth, sobbing slightly, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry kid. I am. I know you’re hurting, and I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought there was any other way.”

Peter whined behind the gag and dropped his head in defeat before forcing himself to look up. Trying to steel himself, to bring his mind out of the haze of pain and humiliation he was drifting in.

“You with me?” Mr. Stark asked. Peter sniffled and took a deep breath, trying to ground himself before looking up and nodding. He could do this, he told himself. He could be strong, he was Spiderman, he was a superhero. He could do this. “Ok, listen. It’s… it’s gonna hurt buddy. It’s gonna hurt _really_ bad, but we need to get out of here. If this thing is blocking your powers than I don’t know if you can heal, and we can’t wait for the team to find us. God knows if they’ve even started looking. It’s been hours already.”

Peter made a noise of inquiry at that and Tony jerked his head as best he could.

“Fucker left a clock behind you. I’ve been keeping track, trying to see if it runs fast but it doesn’t. It’s already been nearly 10 hours since I woke up.” Peter made a sound of disbelief and Mr. Stark gave him a sad smile, “I let you sleep. You’ll need your strength for this.” He said. Peter tried to sit up a little more, groaning in pain as he shifted and felt the tug of dried semen at his opening.

Mr. Stark winced in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Pete, I’m so sorry. I need you to…listen, one of your hands is already broken, we’re at a bad disadvantage there. But it might help. I need you to, to pull your hand out of the chain.” Peter grunted and rolled his eyes, jangling the chains to indicate, _hello_, that was impossible. Mr. Stark gave a wet laugh before flinching. “Pete, I’m sorry. I… do you know what degloving is?” he asked, slowly, face pinched in guilt. Peter’s eye went wide in alarm. He shook his head vehemently at the very thought.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Peter!” Mr. Stark pleaded as Peter began to cry again. He was so scared and tired. He missed his mom for the first time in ages, he wanted to be getting take out with May, "_I larb you_" she'd tease. He wanted to be curled up on the couch with the Avengers watching movies while Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes pretended to be clueless and whisper stupid questions to Mr. Wilson who rolled his eyes so hard Peter thought they might fall out of his skull. He wanted to be in his room with Ned piecing together a massive Lego set and making horrible jokes while MJ read a book and rolled her eyes fondly from the bed. He wanted to be in the lab with Mr. Stark designing and repairing and creating to his heart’s content, the man humming along to his music and tapping his feet.

But, he realized with a sinking feeling, he couldn’t do any of that until he did _this_. So, he sobbed once more and sniffled, taking deep breaths before looking up at Mr. Stark and nodding resolutely, trying to communicate his resolve. Mr. Stark nodded back.

“You can do it, Pete, I know you can. And I’ll get you fixed up; I swear I will. You’ll be ok, I promise.” Mr. Stark said as Peter sat up a bit more, nodding.

Peter took several quick breaths before holding it and pulling with all the strength left in his abused body. His broken wrist shifted, and he screamed in agony, forcing himself to keep going. He could do this, he could do this, the blood was wet on his wrist. He screamed again as he pulled more, crying out as his thumb popped and broke.

“Keep going! You gotta keep going, Pete!” Mr. Stark urged. Peter sobbed but nodded, screaming as he pulled again. Bones grinded, blood squelched and…

He yelled in agony as his hand slipped free, his skin flapping around the ruined and exposed tissue. The chain clanked to the ground, his useless web shooter gone with it, both stained in blood with bits of his flesh clinging to them. He sobbed in horror for a moment before standing on shaky legs, walking over to lean against the wall that the chain around his right wrist was attached to. With his trembling right hand and the wall as leverage, he popped his shoulder back into place and screamed. The chains, were, luckily, only clipped into the wall. Peter sobbed and shook as he undid them before ripping the gag out of his mouth.

“Mr. Stark.” He croaked, fawn like legs barely carrying him. He collapsed at Mr. Stark’s feet, sobbing fully as he leaned his head against Mr. Stark’s shin, cradling his ruined hand.

“Oh, kid. Pete, bambino.” Mr. Stark cooed; heartbroken. It only made Peter sob harder.

“I-I wanna go home.” Peter got out wetly, “I wanna go home. I want- I want-“ he broke off into hiccupping sobs. “M-Mis- Mis’er Stark, wanna go home.” He pleaded quietly. He heard Mr. Stark sob above him.

“I’ll get you home, kiddo, I promise I will. I’ll get you back to May and-“

“No!” Peter said, almost petulant, “no, no! I wanna go back to the tower. Wan’ wan’ my room. Wanna-“ Peter whined, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “’m not a girl.” He got out quietly. Mr. Stark’s breath caught.

“No, kid, you’re not.” He agreed and Peter sniffled, trying to get his broken sobs under control before using the slab Mr. Stark was on the pull himself to his feet. He really wanted something to cover himself. But his boxers were across the room and he didn’t think he could get there with his legs this shaky. And the only other thing was the dead man’s clothes, stained in his dark, dark blood.

“Wha’ do I do?” Peter asked when he stood, covering his chest with his good arm. Though there was no need, Mr. Stark’s eyes never drifted. Peter knew they wouldn’t, ‘cause Mr. Stark was good. And good men didn’t look at little kids, and Peter was just a kid, and god, he wanted to go _home_.

“See if you can get these things undone.” Tony said, indicating his bonds. Peter nodded and walked around. It took a little time, but eventually Peter got the bands to click open one by one. Mr. Stark immediately ripped the wires from his chest, the machine making a soft sound as it powered down. Peter didn’t know why he expected to immediately feel different, but he didn’t. He still felt weak and pathetic. He collapsed to his knees beside the slab, exhausted, as Tony stepped down. Peters eyes locked on the puddle of blood around the bald man’s shiny head. Peter thought he saw the man’s brains spilling out near his ear.

Mr. Stark went to his knee in front of Peter, gently taking the boy by his aching shoulders. He looked at Peter, lost for a minute, before pulling back and tugging the shirt off his own chest the rest of the way.

“Arms up, come on bambino,” he urged gently. Peter allowed himself to be covered, moving like a marionette. He looked down blankly at his chest which protruded from the white tank top. No hiding what he was in this.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, “the- the um,” he motioned vaguely to the binder which lay in rags among the blood-stained spider suit.

“Binder.” Peter said numbly, cradling his broken hand again, “it’s called a binder.”

“The binder is… We’ll get you another one as soon as we get home.” Mr. Stark promised, brushing a hand through Peter’s hair. Peter just nodded vaguely and leaned into the man. Mr. Stark allowed it for a moment, kissing his head and cradling his skull before pulling back. Peter whined as he did.

“It’s ok, it’s ok kiddo, I’m just getting your underwear.” He soothed, pulling away. Peter reluctantly let him go after holding on tightly for a minute. Mr. Stark helped him stand and pulled the boxers up Peter’s shaking legs before allowing the boy to sit on the ground again, this time next to the door and away from the dead body.

“He killed that man.” Peter said numbly. Mr. Stark paused his fiddling with the door keypad to look back at the dead man.

“He shouldn’t have been involved in this.” Mr. Stark said gruffly.

“He tried to help me.” Peter argued weakly. Mr. Stark sighed through his nose.

“Only after knowing _how_ Beck was going to be… hurting you. A good person would have argued the minute Beck tried to involve a kid.” Peter just nodded in agreement, pulling his knees up to hide his chest.

The door whooshed open and it was like Peter could breathe again, not realizing how stuffy the room had been. Mr. Stark tugged Peter to stand, throwing an arm around the teens waist to hold him up. Peter allowed it, too tired to argue. As they made their way through the maze of halls, Mr. Stark made a sound of surprise.

“What is it?” Peter asked.

“I know where we are.” Mr. Stark murmured. His steps came quicker, and he was practically carrying Peter with him, not that Peter complained. Soon they were in what looked like a control room. Mr. Stark plopped him on the ground by the door and instantly began muttering to himself as he moved about the room frantically. A few moments later he had a big screen lit up and gave a small sound of triumph.

“FRI!” Mr. Stark called, somewhere between victorious and desperate.

“_Y-y-yes, Boss?_” came the scratchy reply. Mr. Stark sighed in relief and Peter was rather impressed that he had managed to contact the AI with nothing but some old wires and his hands. Peter dozed in and out as Tony spoke to FRIDAY. When he came to fully, Mr. Stark was outside the door, blocking it and talking to someone. Peter craned his head and saw Captain Rogers in full uniform anxiously trying to look around the smaller man.

“-hurt badly, Rogers. I couldn’t… They had a machine. I need figure out how it works and- never mind. That doesn’t matter right now. Just let me-“

“Mr. Stark?” Peter said weakly. Instantly Tony was at his side, cradling his head.

“Hey, hey kiddo. How you doin'?” Peter shrugged halfheartedly.

“We goin’ home now?” he asked tiredly, and Tony looked up from where he was shielding Rogers view with his own body.

“Yea, yea bambino, we’re going home.” He assured the teen and Peter grunted.

“It’s doesn’t matter.” He finally sighed, realizing Tony’s hesitation after a moment of the man fidgeting and hovering awkwardly, “they’re gonna find out anyway.” He said, waving his hand in the direction of his chest. Tony hesitated for a moment longer.

“If anyone says anything, I’ll kick them out.” He said solemnly. Peter gave a half chuckle and sniffled a little, rubbing his burning eyes.

“Promise?” he asked, only half joking. Mr. Stark tugged him in and laid a kiss on his forehead, his next words muffled.

“I swear, kid.” He pulled back then, standing. Peter looked up at Captain Rogers defiantly. The man looked confused as to what all the fuss was about for a second until he caught sight of Peter’s chest and flushed, automatically looking away.

“I’m not a girl.” Peter said defiantly, jutting out his chin. Captain Rogers raised one brow in alarm before his face softened and he leaned down to pick Peter up.

“No one said you were, pal.” He assured, cradling Peter. Peter sighed in relief, laying his head on Captain Rogers shoulder. Tony fluttered around them fretfully, before finally landing on holding Peter’s ankle as Rogers carried him out.

They turned out to be in an abandoned lab in the middle of nowhere. The quinjet was parked on the lawn, Sergeant Barnes waited at the opening with vigilant eyes and a rifle at the ready in his arms. His face tightened when he caught sight of his husband carrying Peter and rushed over to relieve Rogers of the burden.

“Get the seats laid down,” he murmured, and Captain Rogers nodded, rushing in and scrambling to lay the seats into a gurney.

“What’s the damage, Stark?” Bucky asked as he laid Peter out. Peter normally would have been annoyed at being talked _about_ instead of _to_, but he was laying flat on his back and everyone could see his chest and, honestly, he was just so goddamned _tired_.

“Broken wrist, dislocated shoulder,’ Mr. Stark explained quietly as he quickly unfolded a blanket, tucking it around Peter and layering it over his chest. Peter sighed in relief and gratitude, grabbing Mr. Stark’s wrist briefly before the man lay a kiss on his head and pulled away.

“Degloved hand,” he continued quietly, “and, um-“ Mr. Stark cleared his throat, “tearing. Most likely.”

“Tearing.” Bucky said, voice dangerously blank. Peter looked over. Mr. Stark was crying again, face tight when he nodded but chin wobbling. Barnes closed his eyes and counted to himself before opening them again. “Banner.” He snapped.

Bruce skittered over and Tony leaned in to talk to him. Peter caught the words “_rape kit_” before Barnes turned around and stomped over to the front of the jet where Captain Rogers was piloting, and Bruce went deathly pale.

Peter decided to sleep after that.

He awoke to Mr. Stark stroking his hair and Dr. Banner slipping an IV into his hand.

“Just a pain reliever and some liquids, bambino.” Mr. Stark assured him, and he nodded tiredly, trusting these men implicitly. He flashed his eyes around the jet. Captain Rogers was piloting and Sergeant Barns was standing next to him, a metal hand on his husbands shoulder. Dr. Banner had finished and was moving away to take a seat across from them. Other than that, Peter was surprised to find the jet empty.

“Where’s everyone?” he asked tiredly. Tony, who had taken a seat at his side and was running his fingers through the teen’s hair, paused.

“I told them to only bring the essentials for now.” Tony confessed. “You need rest, not all fifty of us breathing down your neck.” Peter gave a huff of laughter and turned a little, wincing at the pull on his left arm. He looked down and his hand had the freezing liquid over it, keeping it in one piece for now.

“How long till we get home?” Peter murmured, leaning in when Tony began petting his hair again. It really was nice. Had Peter’s dad done this? Or just his mom? He knew May still did it when she thought he was asleep, and Tony too.

“Not long, less than half an hour. Try to sleep bambino, we’ll wake you.” Peter hummed, tipping his head farther into Mr. Stark’s hands.

Rough hands, warm hands, kind hands.

He almost felt Beck’s grasp on his chest fading away.

* * *

**BRUCE**

* * *

When Peter awoke again, he took a deep breath and sighed in relief at the familiar feeling of a binder pulled taunt across his chest. He looked down and, sure enough, his hospital gown was perfectly flat. He sighed again and stretched weakly. His left shoulder no longer ached but his hand still pulled and burned fiercely. When he managed to look down, it was swaddled in white cloth. He dared not twitch his fingers.

“Hey, Peter.” Came a soft, surprised voice to his right. Peter turned his head and gave Dr. Banner a weak smile.

“Hey Dr. Banner.” He croaked out. The scientist looked at him in that deer-eyed alarm he so often wore before muttering to himself and fumbling to pour Peter a glass of water.

Peters hand shook as he downed the entire thing in one go. He clasped Dr. Banner’s wrist as he drank and, surprisingly, the man allowed it.

“Thank you, sir.” Peter said politely when he pulled back finally, releasing the doctor. Banner just gave a tight half smile before turning around and refilling the glass, leaving it by Peter’s good hand so he could grab it.

“You’re welcome kid. How’re you feeling?” Dr. Banner asked, consulting the tablet in his hand and furrowing his brow.

“I’m ok. Everything feels fine but my hand.” Peter said nodding to his bandaged hand. Dr. Banner raised a brow in alarm.

“Even your wrist?” he asked, gently touching said wrist. Peter just hummed in agreement and nodded as Dr. Banner bent and twisted the now healed bone, only pulling slightly at the healing skin.

“Remarkable.” He said in awe, “you’ve healed almost twice as fast as Steve.” Dr. Banner got that look in his eyes, excited and fuzzy. Peter smiled a little sheepishly before looking around and furrowing his brow.

“Where…” he started.

“Oh,” Dr. Banner jerked back from staring at his tablet. “May is asleep, we just got her to go lay down.”

“How long was I out?” Peter asked in surprise. Dr. Banner shifted guiltily.

“You’ve been under for a day and a half. We just started weaning you off the sedatives a few hours ago. That dosage should have kept you asleep until at least mid-morning. It’s only 3 AM right now.” Dr. Banner turned back to his tablet, swiping his hand so the schematics appeared in thin air. “Remarkable." he repeated to himself. "Your metabolism is incredibly high. How many calories do you eat in a day?” Banner asked, turning back to Peter with curiosity in his gaze.

“Uh, I don’t know? A lot? May always complains about us running out of groceries.” Peter explained sheepishly. Banner gave him a brief smile before narrowing his eyes in assessment.

“I don’t wonder if it will slow as you age, like a normal person. Perhaps in a few years we’ll see you at Steve’s levels, maybe even-“ Banner petered off, muttering to himself and assessing the data floating in the air. Peter sat awkwardly for a moment, trying not to feel abandoned by May and Mr. Stark.

“Sir?” he finally asked hesitantly, pulling back Banner’s attention. “Where… where’s Mr. Stark? Is he asleep too?” Peter felt his heart clinch when Banner’s face dropped in pity.

“It’s… He’s around, kid.” Banner said, no further explanation. Peter felt his lip wobble and bit the inside of his cheek to stem the burning of tears in his eyes. After a second he was under control and jerked his head in a nod, giving a smile he hoped looked convincing.

“Of course, he’s probably, like, really busy,” Peter gave a laugh that rang less than hollow.

“Peter…” Dr. Banner started, looking alarmed and concerned.

“Will May be back when she wakes?” he asked quickly, trying to shift the conversation. A terrible voice in his head whispered that Mr. Stark wouldn’t _ever_ want to see him again, wouldn’t want to touch him after-

He felt the breath punched out of him as he realized something.

“Dr. Banner?” he asked, voice a bit shrill in panic as he shrunk back. Banner looked horribly uncomfortable and lost in the face of Peter’s rapidly changing emotions. “Sir, is, I mean… My- My HRT-“ Peter cut off, opening and closing his mouth, unsure how to proceed. After a moment, Dr. Banner lay a hesitant hand on his arm.

“It’s ok, Peter,” he said in the same way Ms. Romanoff spoke to the Hulk, “whatever you want to ask me, whatever you want to know about, it’s ok, you can ask.”

Peter searched his face for a moment, willing away the horrible fist clenching his throat, choking him, keeping his voice locked up. (_Large, rough hands, nothing like Dr. Banner’s, wrapped around his neck. Mr. Stark yelling, voice drowning in the beating of his own blood. And Peter, so weak for the first time in years_.)

“Is this why my HRT hasn’t been working right?” Peter finally asked, not the question he wanted to ask. Dr. Banner blinked for a moment, apparently not expecting that question, but blessedly not pulling back.

“Er, yes, possibly. But you’ve been doing double dosages, Doctor hopping.” Banner said, a hint of reproach in his voice. Peter shrugged sheepishly.

“What was I supposed to do? Say, ‘hey, doc, I got bitten by a radioactive spider a few years ago so I probably need more testosterone, oh also, I’m not crazy, I swear. Here, I’ll lift this car and carry it around with one hand to prove it_._’ ” Peter asked, rolling his eyes a little. Banner snorted, looking like he was trying not to smile.

“Ok, fair enough,” he conceded, then his face went serious again, “but you could have told Tony and I. We could take over your treatment. I mean, I’m not that kind of doctor, but I _am_ a bit of an expert when it comes to advanced physique.”

Peters humor dried up immediately. “I _did_ tell Tony, or rather Tony got told,” he said, face gone blank, “and look how well that’s going.” Banner’s face fell again.

“Oh, Peter, he’s not-“

“Am I gonna get pregnant?” Peter cut the man off, manners abandoning him in his frustration. Banner blinked at the whiplash quick change of topic.

“I-ah,” he stuttered before pulling back, face setting into all business again, “more than likely not. Impregnation is already a low-chance occurrence for cis females with concurring levels of estrogen. Advanced body or not, your levels are only slightly lower than a normal trans boy of your age and build. We’ll keep an eye out, of course, but more than likely you’ll be fine. And if you’re not, we’ll deal with it.” Banner gave him a soft smile, “We’ll be here for you Peter. Don’t worry.” Peter felt some of the tension leech out of his shoulders.

“Thank you.” He said softly. Banner smiled and hesitated before laying a hand on Peter’s head, gently running his hand over Peter’s hair, just once.

“He’s not… he doesn’t...” Banner said, “he’s angry with himself. He’s furious with… with-“ Banner’s face twisted in disgust and he took his hand off Peter, turning away. Peter could see the tips of the doctor’s fingers turning green as he took harsh breaths. After a moment his shoulders loosened, and he turned back, clearing his throat.

“Just give him time, Peter.” Banner said, suddenly looking very tired. Peter hesitated, wanting to ask more, before he nodded jerkily. Banner gave him a weak smile and quickly retreated.

Peter lay awake in the dark. Eventually he laid his own hand on his head, tangling fingers in his hair gently. He imagined they were rougher, a little warmer, a little bigger. He imagined expensive cologne and a voice swinging between the rambling of a genius and off-key 80’s hair rock anthems.

* * *

**CLINT**

* * *

It took a lot of convincing to get May to let him stay at the tower. She wanted to drag Peter home the moment his hand was in one piece, lock him up in the apartment and probably smother him in blankets for the rest of eternity. It was a long conversation before he finally broke down and begged her to let him stay, to _please_ let him stay in this fortress where he was unreachable. May had caved, as she did on every true argument they’d ever had. She was forced to stay at their apartment for commutes sake but promised to visit every day after work and stay on the weekends, and “_call me if you need me, I swear Peter_”. So Peter was ok with that.

He found his suit laying on his bed in the tower when he was released from the med bay two days later. He also found four new types of binders in his drawer. There was a note in Tony’s writing instructing him to order however many of whichever ones he needed. It was the most contact he’d had with the billionaire since he awoke. He hesitantly ordered two more of the thin athletic binders in a smaller size and donned the suit immediately. Forget his left hand, being stripped of his suit was the real definition of degloving. His very identity torn from him, now reattached, his body held and cradled in the metallic suit. He felt safe again.

He found himself nearly skipping as he made his way to the gym, forgoing the mask for now. Captain Rogers and Mr. Wilson were going at separate punching bags side by side, laughing happily. Ms. Romanoff was strangling Sergeant Barnes with thighs that still made Peter flush and avert his eyes, because _damn_. The rest were nowhere to be seen.

Peter tried to not be disappointed that Mr. Stark wasn’t lifting weights with Rhodey or racing Banner on the treadmill.

Everyone who spotted him hesitated for a moment before continuing on. Captain Rogers gave him a solemn nod before going back to his bag with Wilson. He was, perhaps, hitting a little harder than was necessary after that. Peter pretended not to see it as he scrambled up the climbing wall.

He found himself atop the wall sighing as he admired the Avengers below him. All of them strong and capable, all of them deadly and terrifying in their strength. For the millionth time he wondered what the hell he, little Peter Parker who couldn’t even grow peach fuzz yet (_because apparently even a double dose of his testosterone hadn’t put him in normal levels, stupid radioactive spiders_), was doing amongst these god-like people.

There was the creak of metal then the appearance of a warm body next to Peter. Peter caught himself smiling at the crinkling of a Jolly Ranchers bag being held out to him.

“Hey kid,” Clint said brightly. Peter turned his head and grinned at the archer, eyes flicking up to look at the open ventilation shaft Clint had dropped from.

“Hey Mr. Barton,” he said, gladly accepting the tart candy. Clint’s face twisted in fake disgust.

“Kid! What did we say?” the man whined, pretending to cover his ears in horror, making Peter giggle.

“Thanks Clint,” Peter said around the candy in his mouth, waving the wrapper a little to indicate it. Clint smiled and nudged him a little.

“Anytime, kiddo.” He said.

Peter had to give him credit, it took Clint nearly two whole minutes to start shifting uncomfortably. Finally, Peter sighed.

“Just ask it.” He said, almost pouting. Clint went still for a moment. Peter could see the man eyeing him, his face gone soft but firm, fatherly. He set the candy bag on his other side and clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter leaned in subconsciously. The touch felt pure against skin still teeming with refuse.

“How you holdin’ up, Pete?” Clint finally asked. Peter bit his lip, thinking for a moment. His legs swinging over the edge of the wall as he watched the living gods below him. Peter sighed after a moment.

“I… I don’t know.” He admitted, “I don’t feel like. I don’t know. I don’t feel like I should be here anymore.”

“Here as in the gym, or…” Clint trailed off. Peter shrugged.

“Here as in, like, in the tower. I just… I lost my webs and my strength, and I just fell apart. I couldn’t-“ Peter cut himself off, making a helpless gesture. “You’re all so strong. You and Ms. Romanoff are just regular humans and you never would have… You’d have been ok. You’d have known how to get out, how to fight. I didn’t. I couldn’t-“ Peter swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

Clint sighed after a moment, leaning back on the wall and popping his neck, looking down. “Wanna know a secret, kid?” he finally said. Peter eyed Clint under his lashes, nodding hesitantly. Clint gave him a sad smile.

“We’re all fucking helpless. We’ve all got weak spots, lots of them. We’ve all done horrible things, and had horrible things done to us. Nat and I, we’ve been in bad situations, I mean really bad. And there’s no way we would have survived without the other. Cause that’s the whole thing, you know? We stay together because we’re stronger together, and I don’t just mean Nat and I. I mean _all_ of us. We’ve all been helpless and alone, kid, that’s how we know that together is better.”

“None of you have been so _fucking_ helpless you couldn’t stop someone just-“ Peter gets out, hand jerking, tears burning at his eyes, fury at himself filling his chest. Clint caught his flailing hand, cradling it in his palms, making Peter look him in the eye.

“Yea, kid,” he said, face sad, “yea we have. More than a couple of us. You’re not alone in this. But you wanna know something else?” he leaned in, quieter, “you’re still the best of all of us.” He admitted. Peter immediately pulled back, shaking his head.

“I’m not-“ he choked off. Clint nodded his head.

“Yea, you are kid. You _really_ are. That’s why we’re all gonna crowd around you so much you can barely breath. That’s why we're gonna be there for you as much as we can and then some. Kiddo, you are the absolute _best_ we’ve got to offer the world. Look down there, look, kid.” Clint insisted, nodding. Peter looked down.

“What do you see?” Clint asked, scooting closer, leaning forward on the ledge. Peter shrugged.

“I don’t know? The team? Everyone working out.”

“Look again,” Clint insisted. He points to Romanoff and Barnes on the mat. “Two ex-assassins. Two people who have tortured and killed men, women and child alike.” He pointed to Rogers and Wilson at the punching bags, “soldiers, killers like the rest of us. Killing in the name of honor, but still killing on orders regardless.” Clint pointed back at himself, “also an assassin, hello.” He waved with a rueful smile.

“Of course, that’s not taking into account the rest. Bruce, a literal monster, Thor, a god who brought death on the realm he was meant to protect, Wanda, who killed in the name of Hydra for years. And Tony…” Clint paused, analyzing Peter for a moment. “Tony was the worst of all of us,” Peter opened his mouth to argue and Clint held up a hand to stop him, “don’t kid yourself, Peter. Tony was a war lord for decades, profiting off the blood of innocents. He funded god knows how many wars, had a hand in creating weapons that are really, _really_ damn good at killing. Better than Nat or Bucky or I could ever be.” Clint shrugged helplessly. “Then there’s you.” He said, a little quieter, making Peter deflate a bit. “You’re a kid. You’re _not_ weak, you’re _young_. All any of us want is to protect you out there. You’re a lot like Steve in a way, you know? You bring something inherently good to the team, you remind us what we’re fighting for.”

They sat for a long moment, Peter tracing his eyes over the people below them again and again, questioning the validity of the blood on their hands. Eventually Clint sighed and stretched, folding up the candy bag and tucking it away.

“You know, kiddo, you remind me of my oldest baby.” Clint said thoughtfully. Peter raised his brow in question and Clint gave him a half smile before continuing, “she’s decided she wants to be like Daddy and Aunty Nat. She says she’s going to be an Avenger and let me tell you. That fucking _terrifies_ me.” Clint admitted. When Peter looked at the elder man, his face had gone taunt. “Every time we go out and I see you fighting, all I can think is ‘god damn, what if that’s _my_ baby one day’ which, of course, is followed by ‘aw fuck, that’s _our_ baby’” Clint laughed wryly and Peter made an indignant sound.

“I’m not anyone’s baby anymore, Clint. My parents are gone.” Peter argued weakly. Clint looked at him, smiling softly.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, kid. You got a mom; you got a dad. You got a whole tower full of super powered aunts and uncles ready to tear the universe apart for you. You’re a child, Peter Parker, and you’re _our_ child. You’re ours and we fucking love you, kid. Keep that in mind, ok?” Peter swallowed thickly and looked away, tears stinging his eyes.

“Hey,” Clint said, hand back on Peter’s shoulder, getting the kid to look at him, “I mean it, ok? While you’re going through this, and you’ll _get_ through this, remember you’re our kid. And when it’s time to go out and save the world again, remember it even more and stay alive. Seriously. Or else we’ll have to follow you and kick your ass in the afterlife.” Peter barked out a wet laugh.

“You’re supposed to be, like, the funny uncle with bad jokes, you know.” Peter said wetly, wiping the tears from his eyes. Clint laughed, pressing a hand against his own eyes which were maybe a little misty.

“It’s hard to be funny when your kid is hurting.” He admitted, ruffling Peter’s hair as he stood. “Now, I must go, my people need me.”

“What, is some little old lady in the park tossing out bird food?” Peter teased. Clint nudged the boy with his foot and smiled as he jumped, grabbing onto the edge of the ventilation shaft cleanly. He slithered into the vent silently and Peter watched as he poked his head out a moment later.

“Oh, kid,” he said.

“Yea, Mr. Barton?” Peter asked, just to see Clint roll his eyes.

“Come by my place next week, Friday night. My kids are off school, they’ll be visiting and my wife’s gonna make dinner. Ten bucks says my eleven year old can kick both our asses at Mario Kart.” Clint said with a grin, making Peter smile back.

“You’re on.” He said. Clint winked at him and a moment later the shaft is closed, Clint gone from sight.

* * *

**SAM**

* * *

Sam Wilson appeared at his door with a cheeky smile, two packages of popcorn, and the newest Star Wars movie on DVD two nights later just after May had left for the night. Peter smiled at the man happily, letting him in.

“Hi, Mr. Wilson.” Peter said brightly, practically bouncing around the man like a puppy dog. Sam always listened kindly when Peter rambled about MJ or some minor argument with Ned about the latest Game of Thrones episode they watched, giving the boy sound advice in every circumstance. Wilson is also just about the only person who will actually go see the newest sci-fi movies with him, except, of course, Mr. Stark-

Peter cut that thought off, because Mr. Stark still hadn’t been to see him and still isn’t around whenever Peter goes looking. FRIDAY is no help; she just tells him Mr. Stark is “_occupied_”. Peter tried to not be hurt by that.

“Hey kid. Missed you at movie night while you were getting your beauty sleep.” The older man teased, pulling Peter into a hug. Peter almost melted. Wilson is the first person to touch him normally since he woke up. Nothing hesitant or too soft, just a squeezing hug around the boy’s neck and shoving the popcorn bags into his hands.

“Gotta stay prettier than you, sir.” Peter joked and Wilson snorted.

“Not likely kid, though I bet MJ wouldn’t agree.” He wriggled his eyebrows at Peter and Peter flushed. He’d actually just gotten off a three-way facetime chat with MJ and Ned during which he’d told them that he broke a few bones on a mission and opted to stay at the tower while he healed. MJ looked disbelieving but didn’t push him farther, Ned just seemed sad Peter wouldn’t be in class for a while.

Peter flushed at the mention of his friend/crush.

“I mean, MJ _is_ a very honest person.” Peter said as the popcorn beeped. Wilson chuckled and ruffled the teens hair as he moved past the boy to pull down cups and pour soda for them.

“Coke?” Peter asked, perking up, because no one _ever_ let him have sodas. May said it was bad for his teeth, Mr. Stark said it made him hyper even though Peter metabolized it as fast as he drank it, and MJ swore it had cancer chemicals in it.

“Only the one kid, or you’ll never sleep tonight.” Wilson said easily. Peter stiffened for a just a moment before laughing nervously. Because the truth was, he _hadn’t_ slept since he woke up. Mr. Wilson slowed his movement, humming knowingly.

“Nightmares?” he asked lightly. Peter froze again.

“I- it’s not that bad.” He said, lying. Wilson frowned, eyeing him.

“Kid, I hang out with Steve Rogers, king of 'I'm totally fine, no PTSD here', try again.” Wilson said. Peter had the uncomfortable feeling that the whole reason Wilson came by was to talk about this. He hesitated for only a moment before opening the finished popcorn and slowly emptying it into a large bowl.

“It’s… The beds too big.” He supplied for lack of a better explanation.

“You wanna stay with someone for a bit?” Wilson asked, no inflection in his voice. Peter shrugged.

“Usually I just go to the lab with Mr. Stark, he’s got, like, a giant bean bag in the corner that makes a great bed.” Peter admitted. Wilson frowned a little.

“Ah, kiddo.” He said.

“It’s fine,” Peter cut him off quickly, “Dr. Banner said he just needs time. It’s ok. We’ll talk later. And it’s not like he’s kicked me out so-“ Peter gave a pathetic chuckle that had Sam humming and walking over to the living room, popcorn and two sodas in hand.

“You know, back before Steve found Bucky, he would sleep on my floor sometimes.” Wilson said lightly, kicking off his shoes and popping in the movie. Peter curled up on his end of the sofa, eyeing Wilson dubiously.

“Really?” he asked, a little quiet. Wilson nodded.

“It’s nice to have someone else there, makes it harder for you to get hurt if you’ve got backup.”

“_I_ was supposed to be the backup.” Peter said bitterly, tucking his chin into his knees as the loading screen started. Wilson sighed and sat back down, handing Peter his drink.

“Kid, I hate to tell you this, but I think this was bigger than you. I think this was going to happen in some way, shape, or form and you just… were there.” Wilson shrugged. “He doesn’t hate you, or blame you. He’s furious with himself-“

“Dr. Banner said basically the same thing.” Peter argued, pouting at his soda, “I need him to not… I need my-“ Peter cut himself off, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his face.

“Your dad?” Wilson guessed softly.

“No!” Peter spluttered, flushing, “that’s not! He isn’t! He’d _never_-“ Peter cleared his indignant throat, taking a deep swig of his drink. “Just, just turn on the movie, please.” Peter finished, quietly. Wilson conceded and started the film.

They yelled at the characters and drifted closer to the center of the couch, throwing popcorn at each other. The moment felt so normal that Peter felt himself unwinding and laughing.

Three sodas later, because when Mr. Wilson said one, he actually meant at least, like, five, Peter was dozing with his head on the back of the couch. He felt slow and hazy in a good way, the popcorn bowl long fallen on the ground. Mr. Wilson rescued the drooping soda from Peter’s hand and Peter slumped against the air force piolets chest.

“Hey, M’s’er Wils’n?” Peter murmured.

“Yea kid?” Wilson asked, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch to toss over Peter.

“Yer like, a ther'pist, right?” he asked. Wilson made a sound of agreement. “May wan’s me to see one.”

“A therapist?” Wilson clarified and Peter hummed in agreement.

“Yea. Wants me to talk ‘bout stuff.” Peter sighed out.

“What stuff, kiddo?” Wilson asked patiently. Peter made a sound of annoyance.

“You know what.” He said, motioning to his chest vaguely, “this stuff, and the- _that_ stuff.” Peter got out, pouting a little.

“I think that’s probably a good idea.” Wilson confessed.

“Will you help me find one? I can’t ask M’ster-“ Peter froze, voice caught in his throat, he tugged the blanket tighter around himself. “I don’t know who else to ask. May was gonna ask some people at work, but I don't want them to know...” He finally said. Wilson was quiet for long enough that Peter almost looked up, but the movie was so quiet, the blanket was so warm, Mr. Wilson's shirt so soft under Peter's cheek. He was sleepy for the first time in days.

“I’ll talk to some friends, see if I can’t get some references.” Sam finally said. Peter released a breathe he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you.” He sighed out.

“Ah, kid,” Wilson said a little sadly, “you never gotta thank us for helping you.”

Peter just hummed tiredly.

He awoke some hours later. Sam was stretched out on the ground next to the couch, snoring softly, pillow under his head and blanket slipping down his shoulder. Peter was swaddled and tucked in on the couch. He reached down and tugged the blanket back up Mr. Wilson’s shoulder before closing his eyes, sleep finding him easily.

* * *

**BUCKY**

* * *

It had been a week, an entire seven days since Peter awoke. He tried to leave the tower for the first time that day, just to run and get a bagel from that place down the street he liked so much. Really, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. But when he got to the massive glass doors of the tower entrance, he froze. His body went cold and jerky, his breathing came fast. All he could think about was how Beck was still out there, and even Peter’s suit tucked under his clothes hadn’t deterred the man last time, and everyone who could protect him was on the upper floors and Mr. Stark still wouldn’t, still-

He had jerked when someone jostled him on their way out, a “_sorry_” thrown over a suited shoulder as a tower door opened, cold air wafting over Peter’s face. The teen had stumbled back, nearly running for the elevator, pressing the button up, up, up, _now_ please! He collapsed next to the couch in the living room on his floor, shaking and sobbing, cold and hollow. It was a long time before he stood again. By then it was mid-afternoon and the bagel place closed at two, so the whole excursion was pointless.

Peter groaned at himself, suddenly furious with his fear, with his body crumbling under the weight of his mind. He wanted to hit something, he wanted to _be_ hit. He wanted to…

Peter stood and walked to his room, movements jerky as he tugged off the baby-soft binder May had retrieved from home that he’d worn to sleep in and not yet changed (he knew he shouldn’t, but it felt like a hug, so sue him), old and tattered along the edges from years of wear. He paused as he reached for his new ultra thin athletic binder, frowning at his chest. The bruises had disappeared days ago, but Peter lay a hand over his chest, swearing he could feel Beck’s hands on him, could feel-

He jerked away from himself and turned from the mirror as he pulled on the binder and his gym clothes.

“FRIDAY?” he asked as he began to pull on socks and shoes.

“Yes, Peter?” she said primly.

“Who’s in the gym right now?” FRIDAY was quite for only half a moment before answering.

“I count six people in the gym. Dr. Banner is on the treadmills, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are at the punching bags, Sergeant Wilson and Colonel Rhodes are sparring, and Mr. Barton is asleep in the ventilation shaft.” Peter let out a huff of laughter, because _of course_ Clint is asleep in the ceiling. He always did that, Peter wondered if maybe the man felt safer up there, so high above the others, able to imagine himself out of reach.

Peter sighed and popped his knuckles as the elevator dinged, letting him off on the gym floor. Bruce was the first to see him, lifting a hand in greeting which Peter returned. Wilson had Rhodey pinned on the sparring mat, Mr. Stark’s friend in a secure choke hold. Sam grinned at Peter when he spotted the boy, giving Rhodey just enough give to escape and scramble up.

“Hey, kid!” Rhodey called, eyes still focused on Wilson who stood leisurely. Peter just raised a hand in greeting, making a bee line for the back of the room where the sound of punching in time reverberated. Peter always thought it was a little strange how the two men always did things in sync. They took a bite of dinner at the same time, took a drink of water for exactly six second each, punched the bags in a conjoined rhythm. And their fighting, it was like watching someone try to fight themselves, a perfectly choreographed number of spins and jabs, totally in tune with the other. Perhaps, Peter thought, it was the fact they spent nearly their entire lives side by side that made them seem so conjoined. Two halves of the same coin, like Captain Rogers was the earth and Sergeant Barnes the moon, constantly spinning together, working as a clean, precise unit.

“Hey Cap!” Peter called over the steady “_thump thump thump_” of metal and flesh fists against the reinforced punching bags. Captain Rogers stopped immediately, turning to greet Peter with a smile.

“Peter!” The man cried happily, tugging Peter in with a sweaty arm tossed around his neck, hands still wrapped.

Peter wrinkled his nose at the sweat that stuck to the back of his neck but went happily into the embrace. When he’d first woken up and realized everyone knew what had happened, Peter found himself almost fearful the others would stop touching him. But after a few days, once they realized he wouldn’t freak out when they came near him, everything had gone back to normal and he was more than relieved. If anything, the team had become _more_ affectionate, as if kind touches could erase the ghost of wicked hands that sent insects teeming across Peter’s skin. They couldn’t, but Peter was warmed by the blatant show of love none the less.

“How’re you doing, son?” Captain Rogers asked, finally pulling away to start tugging at his wrapped knuckles. Bucky immediately stopped, taking Steve’s hand in his own to pull the wrappings off before Steve could grab the edge with his teeth and pull it loose. Steve smiled at his husband, grateful and soft, before looking back at Peter.

“I’m fine.” Peter lied easily, painting it over with a sweet smile, “I was going to see if you maybe wanted to spar?” Peter asked, jerking a finger over his shoulder at the mats. Steve tugged the rest of the wrappings from his hand and grinned.

“You sure about that kid? Think you can take me?” the man teased. Peter just grinned a little.

“Well, I mean, I’ll have to go easy on you, obviously. I’d feel awful if a hurt a senior citizen, you know the elderly are very important to the preservation of history.” Peter said with his widest, most innocent eyes. Steve sighed dramatically and placed a hand over his heart while Bucky turned away, hiding a grin.

“You used to be such a good boy, Peter, who let you start hanging out with Clint, huh?” Steve asked with a look of heartbreak on his face.

“_good girl, such a sweet little girl cunt, you’re such a good little slut for me-_“

Peter felt his jaw tighten and body stiffen before he willed himself to relax and laugh.

“Pretty sure it was Mr. Stark’s idea to-“ Peter froze, blinking for a moment. Steve’s face fell a little before he plastered his best Captain America face on and clapped Peter on the shoulder.

“Alright kid, lead the way.” He said jovially as he followed Peter onto the mats.

Peter sighed in relief at the quick return to normality as he took up his spot. Steve grinned as he feigned a lunge at Peter, causing the boy to jerk away, and Peter couldn’t help but return the smile. As they began to swing around each other, hard jabs that would break normal bones but hardly even bruised them being traded, Peter found himself giggling happily. He loved sparring with Captain Rogers. Of the team, they were the two most evenly matched physically. Though their fighting styles varied greatly. Peter preferred to parlay, feigning and dodging where Captain Rogers was a pirouetting tank, two-hundred pounds of pure muscle dancing around Peter, occasionally slamming the teen to the mat.

Peter felt light as a feather, enjoying their session until Captain Rogers caught him about the throat. Peter found himself on his knees, face smushed into the mat, Captain Rogers strong bicep wrapped around his neck. Peter felt himself freeze in fear as his air came in wheezes.

“You got this kid,” Captain Rogers urged him, “remember what I taught you about-“

But Peter didn’t catch the rest.

Because his hands were chained-

And he couldn’t breath-

And Beck's erection was pressing into him, burning and _tearing_ a place inside Peter, filling him with worms. Peter knew he was rotting from the inside out, the worms feasting on his flesh-

Peter screamed, suddenly scrabbling at the arm wrapped around him. He thought maybe he was begging, crying out for Mr. Stark to help him, _please god help me_! Captain Rogers was off him and across the mat in barely two seconds, hands raised in a show of submission. Peter found himself gagging and sobbing on the floor, legs trembling. When he looked up, he felt himself flush in humiliation. Captain Rogers was crouched at the edge of the mat, pale and horrified looking. Dr. Banner across the gym was twitching, green edging up his neck and back down, Rhodey and Sam had each taken a step towards him and Clint was suddenly perched on the rock wall, arrow aimed at an invisible enemy. Everyone looked worried and terrified. Except Sergeant Barnes, who stood at the edge of the mat, gaze averted, jaw locked in something like pity. Peter found himself trying to stand and falling on his ass, legs too shaky to hold him, before scrambling away from the blond war veteran in a crab walk.

“I-I, I didn’t,” Peter choked out, eyes wide as he looked at Steve’s arms, clawed open and bleeding by Peter’s hand. Peter froze, air stopping as he looked at the blood on his own hands, Steve’s blood, Steve’s flesh lingering under his nails where he’d fought like a terrified animal against a stupid, basic chokehold. A chokehold Peter had been in a hundred times, a chokehold Peter had escaped a hundred more, only to stand and see Captain Rogers proud gaze on him after.

“Peter-“ Captain Rogers started, reaching forward with his ruined hand. Peter jerked, pointing his web shooter at the ceiling and pulling himself up, crawling along ceiling and wall to make it into the deserted locker room. He dropped to the floor, gasping for air and gagging into the sink before him.

He found himself crying heavily, throwing up nothing but bile because he hadn’t eaten since dinner with Clint's family last night. His hands scrabbled at the neck of his t-shirt, the fabric suddenly constraining as he gagged and whimpered. He thought he tore it as he ripped it off, leaving him in his binder and shorts. He turned the water on as cold as it would go and splashed his face again and again, whispering assurances to himself.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, you’re ok, you’re fine.” He got out between strangled gasps, water and tears sliding down his face. It was another ten minutes before he felt himself breathing a little more evenly. He reached down with a shaky hand and picked up the tattered remains of his t-shirt, wetting the cloth with cold water. He stumbled over to a bench and draped the cold shirt across the back of his neck as he sat, head drooped low. His hands stopped shaking after a while but he dare not move yet.

“Hey, pal.” A voice called from the edge of the locker room, making Peter jump. Sergeant Barnes stood in the doorway, far enough away that Peter could easily escape, not blocking but one out of three entrances to the room, arms folded and leaning against the wall with a purposefully relaxed posture.

“Sergeant Barnes!” Peter said, feeling like a deer in headlights, “I- I didn’t mean to- Is Captain Rogers-“ Sergeant Barnes waved Peter off, taking measured steps until he stood before Peter on the bench. He and Peter stared each other down for a moment, a silent conversation Peter didn't understand, until Barnes finally sat at the end of the locker room bench, more than three feet of space between himself and the teen.

“Don’t worry about Stevie, kid.” Barnes said with a sigh, rolling his neck, “dumb punk's hit himself harder in his sleep. Literally. He once broke his own nose.” Barnes said this with a secret smile and Peter heard himself giggle hysterically before going quiet, looking back down at the floor.

“Was it the choke hold or being on your knees?” Barnes eventually asked after a moment of awkward silence. Never one to mince words, Barnes could always be relied on to have limited tact and honesty so brutal is sometimes left someone winded, this was no different. Peter flinched away, arms crossing over his chest, though there was no need, it was flat as ever and Barnes certainly wasn't looking.

“I- I don’t know.” He lied after a moment, “it was just a fluke. It- it’s nothing.” Barnes hummed, calling Peter on his bullshit without even opening his mouth. The man took a deep breath before speaking again.

“It’s always being on my knees, for me.” He said conversationally. Peter went pale, looking at the man with wide eyes.

“You-“ the boy started, Barnes gave a rueful smile and shrugged.

“Hydra didn’t exactly understand the word _mercy_,” Barnes gave a dark chuckle and shrugged again, looking at his hands folded between his knees and hunching over. “Still can’t do stuff while I’m on my knees,” he continued, “I mean, it’s better now, but, you know.” He shrugged a bit, “I didn’t tell Stevie when we first got back together, so he didn’t know. That was stupid of me, I blame my pride. But he, uh, we were just off a mission, adrenaline, you know? Kinda asked me to get down there and… you know. Like we used to as kids in alleyways after he got the shit knocked out of him and I had to save his dumb ass.” Bucky gave a small chuckle before it faded, and he shook his head.

“I figured it wasn’t a big deal, we'd done it a million times before, and it was _Stevie, _you know? I thought there was no way I could get scared of _my_ Stevie. So I did it. Ended up freaking out and breaking his leg on accident. Stark lost it, wanted to lock me in a cage and throw away the cage. Of course he did, I could have killed Steve. But,” Barnes sighed and shook his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Steve’s always been a dumb little shit with limited survival instincts. He talked Stark down and insisted it wasn’t a big deal. So we don’t do that anymore, and Stevie knows not to pin me on my knees while we’re sparring.”

Peter went silent for a long moment, absorbing what he’d been told.

“I think it was both.” He finally said. “When he- when I… I was on my knees, my hands chained up. And he, I mean while he was, you know,” Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, “he uh, he choked me. I couldn’t breathe. I really thought I was gonna die. I thought that was gonna be it. I thought…” Peter trailed off for a moment. He sniffled as tears began to trek down his face, grabbing the edge of his t-shirt to wipe his eyes. “No- no one ever tells you it isn’t the pain that hurts the worst.” Peter finally sobbed out. The bench creaked as Bucky scooted closer, a metal hand hesitantly laid on the teens shoulder. Peter sobbed and leaned in, Bucky’s arm going around him as Peter’s head lay on his shoulder.

“I know, pal, I know.” He soothed, kissing the crown of Peter’s head, even though his hair is sweaty, and he felt disgusting in more ways than one.

“I wish Mr. Stark would just, just _talk_ to me.” Peter choked out when his sobs began to soften. “I wish he’d just. He didn’t act like he was disgusted or nothin’, he didn’t. I don’t know what I did. I wish he’d just tell me what I did _wrong_! I tried to fight, I did, I _really_ did!” Peter insisted. Barnes sucked in a breath, arm tightening around Peter.

“Ah, kid.” He started, and Peter was so tired of hearing it. He made a noise of frustration, rubbing his face into Bucky’s metal shoulder. Bucky sighed and squeezed him in a hug. “He’s… Kid, he asked Nat and I to track the guy down.” Bucky eventually said. Peter’s breath caught.

“W-what?” he asked, stunned. He pulled back so he could look Bucky in the face. Barnes wouldn’t meet his eyes, shifting restlessly.

“He asked us to find him, and he asked us for… for some help.”

“Help? Help with what?” Peter asked breathlessly. Bucky looked at him, guiltily.

“Natalia and I, it’s… part of our training, I mean. It was, um…” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, “hurting people.” He says, a little sheepish. It takes a minute for the dots to connect in Peter’s head.

“He wants to kill Beck?” Peter asked, voice hollowed out.

Some part of the idea is appealing, he wonders if maybe it’ll fix his fear of leaving the tower, but he doesn’t think he needs that right now. He thinks, maybe, he needs to talk to Tony, he needs to be told by him, from his own mouth, that everything is ok. Rather than these half-messages conveyed by the others in the tower.

“Eventually.” Bucky said evenly, staring intently at Peter who sags. “I-“ he started, swallowing before he speaks again, “I gotta tell you, kid. It’s not exactly a hardship for us. We’re all trying to stay even and normal here, but it’s pretty instinctive for us to want to hurt this guy.” Bucky admitted. “And Tony, he feels the guilt of this pretty heavy. He feels like it’s his fault, he just wants to-“

Peter snarled in sudden anger, cutting Bucky off. “Why don’t _I_ get any say in any of this?” he complained, running a hand through his hair. “It was _my_ body he fucked with, I’m the one he-“ Peter can’t say it, can barely think it. He made a choked sound and swallowed what feels like a whole damn lemon, because fuck it. He _has_ to say it as some point, he has to make it real.

“I’m the one he raped.” Peter gets out, soft and bitter and angry, “so shouldn’t I get a say in all this? Shouldn’t_ I_ get to decide whose fault it is? Shouldn’t _I_ get to decide what happens to the guy?!” Peter's practically yelling by the end, tugging on his own hair. He softened when he looked at Bucky and saw the man smiling in approval. “What?” he snapped, still annoyed, Bucky only smiled wider.

“Nothing, kid,” the man said with a shrug, “you just sound like Stevie, that’s all.” Peter softened a little, bashful almost.

“Really?” he asked. Bucky snorted and nodded.

“Kid, if I hadn’t known the extent of Steve’s bloodline, I’d swear you two were related.” Peter laughed a little, running a hand through his hair again.

“Wouldn’t mind looking like him.” Peter quipped. Barnes gave him a strange look, eyes bouncing down to Peter’s binder and back up.

“Kid…” he started, just shaking his head. “Never mind,” he said, standing. “Listen, just. I know Stark is a narcissistic ass. But this isn’t that, for once, he’s trying to figure out how to fix this. He thinks you don’t want to see him.” Bucky said. Peter frowned.

“Where did he get an idea like that?” the teen asked, thoroughly annoyed. Bucky snorted and shrugged.

“Hell if I know where half his crazy ideas come from. I’ll tell him to talk to you, I’m not sure how much good it’ll do, but…” Bucky shrugged. He turned to walk out, before turning back. “Oh, yea, kiddo. I know Wilson has been staying at your place,” Peter flushed and opened his mouth to deny it, Bucky waved him off, “it’s fine kid. He did the same for Stevie. But his sister needs him to baby sit her kids tonight. Steve was gonna tell you himself, but he offered to come stay with you. Will you be ok with that? Or do you want someone else to do it?” Bucky asked, no taunting, no pity in his voice. He sounded like they were discussing dinner plans.

“Um, no, it’s, it’s fine.” Peter eventually said. Bucky shot him a half smile and walked out the door.

Peter looked at the ruined shirt in his hands, feeling just a touch closer to normal.

* * *

**STEVE**

* * *

Captain Rogers appeared at Peter's door at 6 o’clock sharp. When Peter opened the door, the man stood there with a boyish smile, a few grocery bags in hand.

“I figured you could do with a home-cooked meal.” Rogers said in greeting, brandishing one of the bags. Peter, who still hadn't eaten that day because he tried earlier, after the gym, and it felt like chewing worms, felt his empty stomach rumble. Rogers gave a laugh and nudged past when Peter opened the door wider.

“You didn’t have to-“ Peter started but Rogers waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t cooked this in a while, though, so let me know if it’s horrible, yea?” Steve said brightly, shedding his jacket and revealing his frankly god-like physique, marred only by the bandages still on his arm.

“Listen, Captain Rogers, about your arm…” Peter started. Peter saw Rogers face fall in pity before he smiled again, a little more strained.

“Kiddo, don’t worry about my arm. Trust me, I’ve done worse to myself in my sleep. You know I once broke my own nose?” he laughed at himself as he began to pull out ingredients and Peter gingerly sat at the kitchen island to watch the man cook.

“Sergeant Barnes mentioned that.” Peter said with a half smile and Rogers rolled his eyes.

“Of course he did,” Rogers muttered to himself, somewhere between bitter and fond, “he’s such a jerk sometimes.” Peter swore he could see Rogers eyes turn into hearts at the mention of his husband, making Peter smile into his hand.

“He also said you’re a punk with no self-preservation.” Peter said cheekily, making Steve snort and shake his head.

“Kiddo, Bucky’s been sayin' that since 1926.” Peter laughed brightly, relaxing a little as Rogers went about chopping vegetables.

“You know,” the man said after a few minutes, “I think the last time I made this was 1936, right about the time Bucky got his first proper job on the docks and we moved in together.” Rogers was almost dreamy as he slowed his chopping of the potatoes, “Buck got sick. And Buck _never_ got sick, it was always me who got laid up in bed. But there was a north wind coming in on the docks and Bucky came home from work coughing and sneezing. I made him this,” he nodded down at what Peter realized was the makings of a stew, “and made him stay in bed. Well, ok, I didn’t _make_ him. Kind of impossible at the time, considering I was so tiny, but he stayed anyway. Slept for almost three days straight. I got real worried it was gonna turn into pneumonia the second day. But he was up and about the day after that, just fine and ready to head back to work and spend half his pay down at the dance hall with me.” Rogers laughed a little and shook his head.

“Were you two together yet?” Peter asked curiously, leaning forward to watch the man work, secretly amused by the thickening of Steve's dirty city boy accent past his All-American, home grown exterior. It was almost like watching honking cars and Brooklyn buildings tumble from his lips. Steve frowned a little.

“No, not yet. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Bucky tried to suggest it once when we were, oh fifteen, sixteen? Somethin' like that. I broke his nose and wouldn’t talk to him for a week 'cause I thought he was teasin' me. I thought he found out how I felt about him somehow and was makin' fun of me. I mean, you gotta remember, it was the 30’s and I was, ya know,” he motions below chest height on himself, “that big and about ninety pounds soaking wet. Sick, and pale, with a nose three sizes too big for my face. And Bucky was just,” Captain Rogers shrugged and motioned with the knife, “just, I don’t know kid, _perfect_, I guess. He was always big, and tall, and strong, with those beautiful eyes and killer smile. He got all the dames to look at him. I always thought there was no way in hell he was gonna look twice at me. Not like _that_, anyway.” Captain Rogers shook his head self-depreciatively. “We got together maybe six or seven months after Buck got sick. I'll spare you the details, but it all happened real fast and it was just like… Like everything fell into place. Like that was where we were always headed.”

Peter smiled a little, “that’s kinda sweet. I mean, maybe not the breaking his nose part…” Peter trailed off. Steve laughed heartily.

“Nah, I think we needed that. _I_ did anyway. I’ve never liked my body much. I needed time to get used to the idea that someone else might.” Peter froze a little, jaw tightening as he hummed in agreement, looking away. He saw Rogers eye him out of the corner of his field of vision. The mans face looked pained, like he’s trying to find the right words before he sighed in defeat and went back to cooking for a bit.

After half an hour and the stew set to simmer on the stove, Steve sat on the stool opposite him.

“Kid, earlier-“

“I’m sorry.” Peter cut him off, gut churning in guilt as his eyes look at Steve’s bandaged arm, Steve’s face fell a little.

“Oh, no, no not that. Don’t worry about that. I meant, I meant. When I said something, and you got uncomfortable. Do you… do you wanna talk about it?” Peter looked at him in confusion. “When I-“ Steve cleared his throat, very uncomfortable. “I said you were a good boy. You got kinda… do you wanna talk about it? Is that something we should avoid?” Steve asked, the picture of awkwardness. Peter blinked at him in blank confusion for a moment before he remembered and his face burst into flames.

“Oh! Oh, no, that’s not. You didn’t do anything. That was something else, that was…” Peter opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the words. “He called me a girl.” Peter finally got out, arms folding over his chest and hunching in subconsciously, “that’s all. He just called me a girl and I didn’t…”

“And you’re not.” Steve said gently, not a question, just a reiteration. Peter nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about that?” Steve asked kindly, face free of judgement. Peter looked at him for a minute and forced his back to straighten.

“It’s, do you know anything about it?” Peter asked, “About people like me?”

“A little.” Steve admitted, “not much. There was a place Buck and I used to go where the gals dressed like fellas and the guys wore dresses sometimes. But it wasn’t… it was just a thing, no one really talked about it, it just wasn’t done. I know what they call it now, but I don’t know much else.”

“I was, I mean. I was born with a girl’s body,” Peter started, “but it never felt right. Even as far back as I could remember. I don’t know why I never said anything to my parents, you know? I think I just thought I was a tom boy or something, I figured I’d grow out of it. So I never asked them to cut my hair or to call me a boy name or anything, I just kind of kept quiet.

Then my parents died. I think I was scared, angry. I was trying to push Ben and May away because I thought that if I did, I couldn’t get hurt when I lost them too. So I was, I don’t know, eleven, twelve, maybe? I had just moved in with them after my parents died. I got mad about something, I don’t remember what though, and I stole May’s wallet.

Back then I had _really_ long hair, you know? I looked a lot like my aunt, same hair, same eyes, and I was starting to… uh, develop.” Peter flushed a little, but Steve only nodded understandingly. “So I just. I got in an argument with May, and I hated that I was growing and turning into this weird shape I didn’t wanna be, so I stole her wallet and ran off. I scared them so bad, I didn’t mean to, I was just mad. I- I went to a hair salon and got them to cut my hair short, like boy short, and shorter when they tried to make it feminine still. Then I went and bought a really tight sports bra and came home. I stormed in and told them not to call me Gwen anymore. That was, um, my birth name. We, trans people I mean, usually call them dead names. It... a lot of us hate our dead names, but I don't really hate mine. It was a gift from my parents. I kinda think of it like someone knitting you a sweater in the wrong size. You still like it but you can't fit in it. Anyway, I told them to call me Peter, which was my dads name.

I was, like, ninety-five percent sure they’d be disgusted or something and kick me out. I think that’s what I wanted, to shock them into leaving me alone so they couldn’t hurt me. Instead they just looked kinda surprised and then said ok. And then I realized they weren’t going anywhere and started crying and crying. After that, they helped me clean out my wardrobe and buy new clothes, find binders that fit right, that’s the- the thing that flattens my chest,” Peter explained, motioning to his flat chest, “they started calling me Peter, changed my name and took me to the doctor. Got me medicines that helped me start developing like a boy. May and Ben were great. May tells me all the time that my parents would have been just as supportive if I’d ever told them. But I’ll never know if that’s true.” Peter shrugged.

“Then the spider bite me,” Peter rolled his eyes in annoyance, “and I’m strong, like _really_ strong and have muscles and stuff, but my medicine started not working as well. My voice kinda just stayed weird and croaky instead of dropping and the hair I had been growing slowed down and I started getting… curves” Peter wrinkled his nose in distaste, “but Dr. Banner says he can work on something to fix it so the T works right.”

“T?” Steve asked, confused.

“Testosterone,” Peter explained, “it’s part of my transition, going from looking like a girl to a boy, basically. The testosterone is the masculine hormone, to really simplify it, so they give me artificial testosterone, so my body thinks it’s supposed to make boy hormones instead of girl ones. So I grow body hair and my voice drops and stuff like that.” Peter explained as simply as he could to avoid confusing the man or dumping too much of the science on him at once.

“Mmm, like a Vita-Ray demo version?” Steve asked with a hesitant smile that made Peter giggle and nod.

“Kinda.” He said with a grin, before it faded a bit. “I know it sounds weird,” Peter said with a shrug.

“Kid, you’re talking to the king of weird things happening to your body.” Steve snorted, making Peter relax a little in relief.

“Transitioning kinda feels like going from Small Steve to Captain America Steve.” Peter said with a hesitant smile. Steve frowned a bit.

“God, I hope not. I hate this body.” He admitted, shaking his head. “I hit my head on things all the time, I constantly feel like I’m taking up too much space, like my skin is crawling because there’s too much of it. I break things on accident, I can’t curl up on the couch right and the bed is too big and too small all at once. I felt like I was going insane when I first changed. I felt like the monster from that old fairy tale. The one with the magic rose. I don't remember the english name, Buck's mom used to read it to us in Romanian. I really thought Bucky would never wanna touch me again. I just felt so gross and awkward, still do sometimes. He tries to help but,” Steve shrugged, standing to check on the stew, “some days I’d give just about anything to be small again. You know?” Peter nodded behind him, even though the man couldn't see him.

“I keep feeling his hands on me.” Peter admitted quietly, Steve stiffened but doesn’t react otherwise, “I think I’d give just about anything to quit feeling like he ripped me open and filled me up with worms. Bucky says it gets better, Sam says the nightmares fade, but I still feel like I can’t scrub him off my skin.” Peter sucked in shaky breath and took a minute to collect himself as Steve started to pull down bowls.

“When I- When I first transitioned, I was so scared everyone would be disgusted with me. They’d be able to tell how uncomfortable I was in my own skin and they wouldn’t touch me because of it. I started to be… to be desperate for someone to touch me. I wanted hugs from Ben and May all the time, I wanted to know they weren’t horrified with what I was. This feels like that, only times, like, ten. It feels like everyone can see the worms under my skin, but every time you guys act like everything is normal or still touch me it feels like the bugs go away for a minute. Like I’m ok and normal and no one is disgusted with me or- or blames me for not being able to fight back, or… I don’t know. I just feel better for a minute.” Peter shrugged, not looking up from where he was picking at his nails.

“Is that why you’ve stayed in the tower, instead of going back to your aunts?” Steve asked softly as he put a bowl in front of Peter. Peter shrugged a little, accepting he spoon Steve handed him.

“Partially.” He mumbled, “mostly I just… He got me and Tony. But he couldn’t _possibly_ have been able to get us all. There’s too many of us, or you, rather. And you’re all so strong and smart…”

“And he can’t get to you if he has to go through all of us.” Steve finished for him. Peter looked up through his bangs and nodded guiltily.

“I’m not just using you guys-“ Peter started, guilt pulling at his throat. (_Holding him down in an abandoned lab while his mentor screams, while Peter is torn apart, worms, worms everywhere, squirming inside his veins, hands on his chest-_)

“You’re not using us,” Steve cut his thoughts off, “we _want_ to protect you. We care about you. All of us do. We’re all so, _so_ angry we couldn’t keep you safe, couldn’t see this coming and prevent it. Any one of us would trade places with you in an instant if it meant you didn’t have to go through this. You’re allowed to stay here, Peter, and we’re all _more_ than willing to stand guard.” Steve said, face pinched in a mixture of fury, grief, and care. Peter gave him a crooked smile before looking down at the stew. Warm, light, it smelled like a home Peter was born too late to ever see, but honored enough to know through Steve's eyes.

Steve seemed to understand his exhaustion with the subject and switched to telling stories about he and Bucky’s misadventures as kids and beyond. Peter found out how Steve managed to break his own nose (newly acquired super strength + a badly assembled tent + Steve thrashing in his sleep apparently equaled a bloody nose and the Howlies being very amused with their stupid Captain.) and they both laughed so hard Peter teared up.

Only after dinner was done did he realize the stew didn’t writhe like a mass of insects as it went down his throat. He awoke in a sweat later that night to Steve shushing him quietly, singing an old lullaby in what Peter thought might be Gaelic. He drifted back to sleep with ease, Steve’s hand on his head.

* * *

**TONY**

* * *

One week and three days. That’s how long it had been since Peter had seen his mentor. He hadn’t gone this long without the man since he got stuck at that two week long meeting with an international merger or something equally dull last year. 

He awoke that night to Clint snoring on the floor next to his couch, the Avengers having switched to taking turns sleeping with Peter. Clint apparently slept without his hearing aids, so it was all too easy for Peter to sneak out and putter down to Mr. Stark’s private lab, already day dreaming about tensile strength enhancements for his webs, even if he knew he wouldn’t actually do any work, just turn on Tony’s playlist and fall asleep in the corner of the lab. He neglected taking the elevator, instead popping open the shaft itself and propelling himself upwards using his web shooter. He crawled along the walls, unwilling to awaken or encounter anyone in the tower, eventually making his way into the lab via the vents. He furrowed his brow when he heard angry voices hissing at each other.

“Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice rang out, making Peter almost fall off the roof in alarm.

“Not now,” he heard Mr. Stark snap back. Peters mouth went dry, eyes wide in shock, and he almost turned around.

“Goddammit, Tony,” said Rhodey, clearly annoyed with his friend and drawing Peter’s attention, “you _need_ to talk to him!”

“Fuck off, Rhodes!” Tony snapped, almost a snarl.

“For god sake you narcissistic, idiotic son of a-“ Rhodey growled in annoyance, “you know he can’t sleep alone? We’ve been taking turns sleeping on his floor for almost a goddamn _week_. He’s asked every one of us why you won’t talk to him, where you are, what he did wrong-“

“AND WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY TO HIM!” Tony screamed. Peter crept forward until he could see over a divider and look down at Tony and Rhodey. Tony was standing with a screwdriver clinched in his fist, Rhodey had his arms crossed in annoyance. Tony looked… like shit, for lack of a better term. He had gone greyer, if that was possible in such a short amount of time, his clothes hung loose, his hair drooped with grease, black circles smudged under his bloodshot eyes. He looked terrible, aged beyond his years.

“What am I supposed to say?” Tony repeated, quiet and desperate this time, “sorry I couldn’t keep you from getting fucking raped, sorry I didn’t see this coming, sorry you were forced to tell everyone something you clearly didn’t want to tell us? What the actual _fuck_ am I supposed to say to him?”

“You love him?” Rhodey guessed. Tony sniffed and gave a small laugh, shaking his head.

“I don’t _deserve_ to love him.” Tony sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“Boss,” FRIDAY started again. Tony groaned in annoyance and flicked from his watch to the air, before sliding a button. FRIDAY didn’t speak again. Rhodey just frowned at the action.

“Tony,” the man said gently, “the kid _needs_ his parents.”

“I’m not his-“ Tony stopped, jaw ticking before he shook his head, turning back to the work table, “parents don’t let their kids down like this. Parents don’t put their kids in danger like this. Like… like…” Tony trailed off, looking lost. Rhodey sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t let him down, _yet_, we’ve had this discussion. It wasn’t your fault; you had no way of knowing what was going to happen.” Rhodey said as if he was talking to a dense child rather than a genius billionaire, “and you locking yourself up and going on your damn revenge quest isn’t helping now, ok? He. Needs. You. We’re trying man, we’re trying _really_ hard but we don’t have the connection with him that you do-“

“Oh, the 'I took you from your nice comfy life and made you a superhero and got you raped' connection, or the 'I’m shittier than my own father and apparently can’t find the asshole who did it' connection?” Tony snarked making Rhodey groan and roll his eyes again.

“Tony, the guy is good. _Really_ good, ok? There’s a _reason_ he made it up so high in SI, he’s a genius. But we’ve got literally the entire fucking planet complete with every satellite circling the earth and the two deadliest assassins alive on the look out for him, ok? We’re gonna find Beck, and he’ll get what he deserves. But right now, Peter needs you. Your suits can wait, the search can go on without you, the kid needs you more.” Rhodey urged. Tony slumped his shoulders and shook his head.

“How am I supposed to be there for him? I couldn’t protect him before, how am I supposed to…”

“You didn’t have the rest of us with you, before.” Rhodey said softly, laying a hand on his friends’ shoulder, “you know this, Tons, we’re stronger together. They got through the suit because they knew the tech. Ok, we make new tech, they weakened the kid because they got a hold of our info on his physiology, fine, we find out how to work around it next time.

But right now? You have a magic witch and her AI boyfriend, an alien god, a giant green monster, three assassins, one of whom is a super soldier, his super soldier husband, two more highly decorated soldiers with super suits of their own, and an entire fucking fortress of a tower between him and the kid. He got through _one_ of us, but he can’t get through _all_ of us, he just can’t Tony. So quit thinking you gotta do it all on your own. Let us do the heavy lifting here, you go take care of your kid.” Rhodey pleaded. Tony sighed and opened his mouth but was cut off.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said, a little more firmly. Tony growled and grabbed his hair, clearly frustrated.

“Goddammit FRI, I shut you off for a fucking reas-“

“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY said, sounding annoyed, “but you asked to be alerted when Mr. Parker entered the lab.”

“Fuck,” Tony hisses, scrambling to clear the tabletop, “how close is he?” Tony asked.

“About ten feet, sir.” FRIDAY said, a hint of humor in her voice. Peter cursed and started to crawl backwards quickly. He accidentally stepped on a sprinkler in the ceiling and cursed loudly when the prongs cut his foot, making him fall and land with a hard groan on his back.

Tony yelled his name in alarm and ran around the large metal divider between his workstation and the one next to it that Peter had landed in. Peter looked at him, wide eyed and immediately stood, not putting weight on his injured foot and tugging his sleeves down over his web shooters.

“Uh, um. Hi, Mr. Stark.” Peter fumbled, flushing and looking down. He wanted desperately to run to the man, but instead leaned back, trying to appear as if he hadn't been eavesdropping.

“Peter,” he breathed out, just as wide eyed. “I- I didn’t.” he started, then lost his nerve. Rhodey poked his head out and eyed the two for a moment before clapping Tony on the back.

“Well, I’m going to bed. Tony, Peter.” He nodded at each of them, tugging his arm free when Tony hissed at him and made a grab. Mr. Stark and Peter watched as he stepped out of the labs sliding glass door… and stood against the wall next to it, preventing escape. Mr. Stark grumbled in annoyance at his friend and looked back to Peter, who tried to shift and hissed as his cut foot met the cold floor.

“You’re bleeding!” Mr. Stark yelped in surprise, grabbing Peter by the wrist and dragging him into Tony’s workstation, pushing him down on the bench and tearing open a cabinet, muttering to himself as he dug out a small first aid kit.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark-“ Peter started, but Tony ignored him, grabbing Peter’s foot gently and cleaning it with a small piece of gauze.

“What did you even cut yourself on?” Mr. Stark muttered to himself.

“Er…” Peter started, “the fire sprinkler?” Tony cast a look up at the ceiling, glaring as though it had personally wronged him.

“I’ll make retractable one’s tomorrow.” He decided, going back to dabbing at the cut that was already healing over.

“I’m ok, sir, really.” Peter insisted. That seemed to give Tony pause and he jerked back.

“I-“ he started, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be-“ he stood quickly, shoving the first aid kit away. “Sorry, I’m just, I’m gonna-“ he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and started leaving. Peter felt his face fall and tried to bite back his tears.

The door to the lab whooshed open and Peter's advanced hearing caught heated, angry voices.

“What the _hell_ are you doing Anthony?” Rhodey hissed.

“I can’t, I fucking _can’t_-“ Mr. Stark started. Peter couldn’t see them, but he caught the next words clearly.

“If you don’t get your fucking ass back in there right this second and take care of your goddamned kid, we’re going to kick you out of your own fucking tower, do you hear me? Grow the fuck up, Tony.” Rhodey hissed. There was a scuffle, Mr. Stark spluttering, then the whoosh of the lab doors closing again. Peter heard Mr. Stark take a deep breath and walk about around the corner. Instantly, Peter stood, tugging at his sweater again.

Tony stared at the floor for a long moment, tucking his hands in his pockets before giving a wry smile. “You know, I could swear I said no bare feet in my lab.” He said, nodding to Peter’s bare toes. Peter flexed his feet, looking down for a moment and huffing a laugh.

“You’re always barefoot.” He countered. Tony rolled his eyes and Peter took a fortifying breath before continuing, “besides, I don’t, um… I don’t usually end up working when I come down here. I mean, I say I’m going to, but I usually just…” Peter trailed off, shrugging and pointing to the pile of multicolored bean bags in the corner that he had taken to sleeping on.

“It’s cold as hell in here, kid. You’ll freeze.” Tony snorted and Peter flushed, shrugging.

“I… The music helps me sleep.” He admitted.

“Music?” Tony asked in confusion. Peter shrugged and nodded.

“Your um, or our or… never mind. I’ll, I’ll go.” Peter stuttered, going to walk past Tony. Tony let him, face pinched. Right before he turned the corner, he heard Tony call his name.

“Wait, Pete,” he said. Peter froze, turning back around. “you can… you can stay kiddo. I’ll, just, I’ll…” Tony cleared his throat and shuffled.

“Where have you _been_, Mr. Stark?” Peter finally asked, frustration creeping into his voice, “where have you been at? I come to the lab and you’re not here, I try to go to your floor and FRIDAY won’t let me. Why are you avoiding me? Why…”

“No, no, I’m not, I’m not avoiding you,” Mr. Stark gives a nervous laugh, lie clear as day. Peter frowns, unimpressed. “I’m just, I’m busy kiddo. I’ve got a project-“

“Why are you _lying_ to me?” Peter asks softly, shoulders slumping, “you’ve _never_ lied to me before. Why are you lying about this?”

“How do you know I’m lying?” Tony shot back instead. Peter laughed wetly, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head.

“Sergeant Barnes told me what you’re doing-“ Peter started.

“Fucking _Barnes_,” Tony grumbled, making Peter shake his head.

“He was the only one who would tell me the truth. You’ve been on some stupid revenge mission instead of…”

“He hurt you!” Tony snapped, “and now he’s just wandering around! Don’t you know-“

“YES, I KNOW!” Peter yelled, finally losing his temper, “I fucking know what that feels like! _I’m_ the one he raped, in case you forgot! I can’t sleep without someone there or else I think he’s gonna get me! I can’t leave the tower, I tried and had a fucking breakdown, I can’t even go across the damn street, let alone to see May or my friends, because I’m so damn scared of being without you. This tower and everyone in it is the only thing keeping me in one piece. So where the _hell_ have you been? While they’re helping me, while they’re making sure I eat and sleep, where are you?!” Peter snaps, crying and flailing his arms in frustration.

“I’M TRYING TO MAKE SURE HE _CAN'T_ GET YOU AGAIN!” Tony yells back, throwing his hands in the air in annoyance, “I’m trying to keep you _safe_!”

“I _am_ safe!” Peter argues. “Rhodey is right! I am safe, here, I’m safer than I could ever be. And the rest of the team is keeping me safe, they’re being kind and understanding. Dr. Banner is getting me on the right HRT plan, Sam is helping me find a therapist, the others are helping me, they’re trying to tell me it’s not my fault. But it’s no good coming from _them_, Mr. Stark. It’s no good cause they don’t _know_. They don’t know that I should have been able to-“

“Stop,” Tony cuts him off, voice thick with tears, “stop, Peter, just stop. This wasn’t your fault, this wasn’t-“

“Which one of us is enhanced?” Peter asked bitterly, “I should have been able to just rip the chains out of the wall, I should have been able to fight back, to- to-“

“Yea, well, which one of us is the _adult_?” Tony sneers, “I shouldn’t have even _brought_ you out with me, I shouldn’t be letting you do this, letting you risk your life-“

“But that’s my _choice_!” Peter argues.

“Well maybe you’re too young to make it!” Tony snaps. Peter reels back, face pinching in anger.

“People say that about my body too.” He says stiffly. Tony’s face falls and goes ashen.

“I didn’t-“ he starts, but Peter cuts him off.

“They say it’s just a phase, they say I’ll get over it and accept my place in life. They say I’m messing up my future by doing what I do. But they’re wrong, they’re _so_ wrong, and so are you. I have these powers, and I can’t just do _nothing_ with them. I can’t just sit on the sidelines _knowing_ I could help people, knowing I can make a _difference_. I tried that when this all started, I _tried_ that, I tried hiding it, and my uncle died. I won’t do it again, Mr. Stark. I _won’t_ sit by when I can help.” Peter sets his jaw, raising his head. Tony just closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“But it’s _my_ job to take care of you out there, Pete. It’s my _job_ to keep you _safe_ when we’re fighting.” He says, pleading almost.

“No,” Peter says, shaking his head, “no, it’s the _team’s_ job to keep _each other_ safe. We weren’t _with_ the team, we were alone. And- and it was a trap from the beginning. You know that. There was nothing you could have done to stop this-“

“I could have-“ Tony starts, sounding broken and desperate. Peter shakes his head firmly.

“No, Mr. Stark, you couldn’t have.”

“I _could_, though!” Tony says, “I could have had a lock on the suit so it doesn’t open while I’m unconscious, I should have put in an emergency tracker in case it’s forcibly removed, I should have made your web shooters stronger so he couldn’t have broken them, I should have made your suit irremovable, I should have-“

“Stop,” Peter pleads, “Mr. Stark, stop. None of that would have stopped this. My strength was gone, my hands chained at an angle. The shooters would have been useless anyway. The GPS tracker wouldn’t have gotten anyone there in time to keep him from touching me. There was nothing that you could have done unless one of us had the ability to see into the future. Which, while that’d be totally cool, I can’t do. Can you?” Peter asked with a wry smile. Mr. Stark looked like he was going to argue, before finally bowing and shaking his head.

“I’m sorry kid, I just don’t know how to _fix_ this.” Tony admits. Peter nods, looking for the right words.

“Me either,” he finally chokes out, “but everyone is trying to help me figure it out. They’ll help you too. We can… we can help each other. Can’t we?” Peter asks, voice small and unsure. Tony looks like he’s going to argue, so Peter speaks again. “You said I was your kid.” Tony looks taken aback, but nods none the less.

“Yea, of course you are, you gotta know that Pete.”

“I didn’t.” Peter countered, “but I could _really_ use a dad right now.” Peter admits. Tony slumps again.

“I’m not very good at that.” He admits.

“Yea, well, I’m kinda shit at being someone’s son. My dads all keep dying.” Peter jokes wetly making Tony chuckle with him.

“Ok, ok, you win. I’ll try not to die and do my best to not… not run away.” Tony finally says, stepping closer and taking a hand out of his pocket to hesitantly place on Peter’s shoulder. Peter immediately throws his arms around Tony in a hug that leaves the man winded. “Ok,” he gasps out, “ok, lots of love. But I need to breath.”

Peter grins into Tony’s shirt and squeezes tighter, “No.” he says petulantly until Tony wheezes and pats his head. He loosens his hold but doesn’t let go, tucking his face into Tony’s chest. The older man only hesitates for a minute before wrapping his arms around Peter.

“You don’t hate me, right Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, voice muffled. Tony lays his cheek on top of Peters head, making a sad sound.

“Ah, Pete, I thought we just had a big gross heart to heart about how it wasn’t our fault-“ he starts and Peter laughs a little, shaking his head and pulling back.

“Not that. I mean cause of… cause I didn’t tell you I’m not, or I’m a… I’m trans. I didn’t tell you I’m trans.” Peter finally gets out, nervous. Tony’s face fell a little and he smiled sadly.

“Oh, bambino, no. I kinda wish you’d told me earlier so you didn’t have to lie to the doctors, Bruce and I could have taken care of everything. But I don’t hate you, that’s the last thing I’d ever feel for you kid.” Mr. Stark assured, and Peter smiled in relief.

“And you don’t think I’m a girl?” Peter asked, face bright and hopeful. Tony scowled playfully.

“No way, and I’ll send anyone who says otherwise to the bottom of the ocean.” Peter snorted out a laugh.

“So, all the republicans?” he said and Tony pulled a pained face that made Peter laugh before Mr. Stark smiled at him softly.

“Come on,” Tony said, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Let’s get you back to bed kiddo.”

“Will you stay?” Peter asked, hopeful. Tony hesitated for a moment, but then smiled and pulled Peter in, placing a kiss on his temple.

“Course I’ll stay, kiddo. I’m sorry for being an idiot.”

“I’m told it happens to the best of us,” Peter said with a small smile, “did Sergeant Barnes ever tell you about the time Captain Rogers broke his own nose?” Tony snickered as the lab doors slid open.

* * *

Rhodey sighed as he watched the duo get into the elevator, pulling out his phone to text the group about the developments. He jumped when Barton silently landed next to him, the ventilation shaft above them hanging open.

“Sooo…. It worked?” he asked, still in his pajamas after letting the boy “_sneak_” out of his apartment.

“Of course it did,” Rhodey snorted, “Tony just needed to get his head out of his ass.”

“A difficult task.” Barton mused making Rhodey smile a little. “Barnes and Nat found him.” Barton said suddenly, making Rhodey raise his brow in alarm.

“Where is he?” Rhodey asked and Barton shrugged.

“Quentin Beck _was_ in Germany, but now he’s very uncomfortable and being brought back to the abandoned lab he held them in.” Rhodey nodded and hummed in agreement. Barton eyed him for a moment, unsure.

“Should we tell Tony?” he asked. Rhodey shook his head immediately.

“Oh, no. Not yet. Tony needs some rest and the kid needs Tony. I’m sure Barnes and Nat can keep the fucker entertained for a few days.”

“Cap says he wants a go.”

“We _all_ want a fucking go, Barton. Beck touched our fucking kid.” Rhodey snorted, rolling his eyes. “We’ll all get a turn. Let’s take care of Peter first, though.”

“Agreed.” Barton said, nodding sharply before retreating back to the ceiling, silently.

If Clint silently dropped in on the kids place to check on him that night and found Tony snoring from his place on the couch, Peter’s head in his lap and Tony’s hand in the boys hair, that was no one’s business. If Clint perhaps went home the next day and hugged his kids a little tighter than usual, no one mentioned it.

If the tower perhaps settled a little more firmly into its foundations, FRIDAY spoke a little softer, and the group breathed a little easier with Peter safely tucked away in their ranks, no one had to question it. That’s just what it meant to be an Avenger, after all.


End file.
